


Why the Change of Mind (More a Change of Heart)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: Anastasia (1997), The 100 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Anastasia crossover, Banter, Bellarke, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, also sort of, bellarke AU, brother!lincoln, canonverse but very different, grounder!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s your name?” Bellamy asked, completely undeterred. What did it take to get rid of this guy?</p>
<p>           “Clair kom Trikru,” Clair said, dutifully accenting the last word.</p>
<p>           His eyebrow raised again; maybe it’d get stuck that way. “The lost princess’s name is Clarke. Clair…Clarke….”</p>
<p>           “You’re saying you want me to believe you,” Clair said meticulously, folding her arms across her chest, “because I look like a lost two-year-old with a similar name?”</p>
<p>           “I’m saying,” he said, “there’s someone you might want to meet.”<br/>--<br/>Or: the Anastasia canonverse au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soon You'll Be Home With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romanticblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticblossom/gifts).



> (Title of the whole work and each chapter are lines from the Anastasia movie)
> 
> (Also it's unrated right now because I don't know what's going to happen yet, lol, but there's no mature stuff if you're wondering)
> 
> No Bellarke yet don't kill me

The Ark was falling.

They knew this would happen eventually; the Ark was dying, they didn’t have time. But it was a week before they were supposed to leave and something had gone wrong, and now the passengers seemed only able to panic.  
Funny how the ground, the dream, could turn so easily into a nightmare.

Abby Griffin clutched her daughter – innocent little Clarke, barely two years old – to her chest as she fruitlessly tried to dull the chaos around them. The girl had her arms around Abby’s neck, and even though she didn’t know what was happening, she was still sobbing. It must’ve been the screaming—so much screaming, it sliced at Abby like knives. The overwhelming sensation made her feel as if she were drowning, but it was also the only thing that kept her fragile heart beating, so she used it as fuel.

“Sh, Clarke, you’re okay,” she cooed to the small blonde. It brought a moment of comfort to the child’s face, but it was fleeting. Happiness didn’t last long here.

Abby turned her attention to calming the passengers while a thought pounded in the back of her brain like a second heartbeat. _Where’s Jake?_ She had told him to meet her in med bay, but she’d already passed it and he hadn’t been there. _It’s fine, Abby, it’s fine. He’s just preparing everyone, like you are. Calm down. There’s no reason to add to the hysteria._

Thelonius’ voice came over the speaker, and when she glanced at a nearby screen she saw his face as well. It was tight and only thinly veiled by an aura of calm. “Everyone, please, remain calm. We’re having some difficulties, but they will be sorted out shortly. In the meantime, act as if this was the scheduled day for departure; get to a safe place, protect your head, and stay with family. We will—”

The transmission cut abruptly, leaving everyone in the hall with only the eerie crackling of static. Of course, the pandemonium only intensified, and Abby’s efforts only sapped her already deteriorating energy; finally, she knew there was nothing more she could do, as much as it pained her. If she didn’t get strapped down soon, she and her child wouldn’t make it to the ground. So she found a safe place, enveloped Clarke in her arms, and whispered to her quietly as their home tumbled through the atmosphere.

There was pain, and then blackness.

-

Abby woke to moaning and embers of pain all over her body. She clutched at her head, which was bleeding, and quickly checked over Clarke, who had miraculously stayed in her embrace. She appeared mostly unharmed, though certainly dazed and frightened. “Oh, thank goodness,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Once she was certain of Clarke’s safety, Abby scanned to see how the others were doing. The light was dim, and she mostly could see from the sparks coming around her, which wasn’t comforting. Bodies lay around her; she couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.

“Is everyone okay?” she called into the darkness, knowing there would be few replies. Some muffled replies came, saying _I’m fine,_ or _What happened,_ or _Please help._ She crawled around, careful not to step on bodies or anything sparking, and did what she could for the people alive. The dead she left; there was nothing she could do for them now.

At some point Marcus Kane came upon her, surprisingly unharmed, and she enlisted him with the other healthy people to take the injured to a safer area. The thought occurred to her that if their fleeting hope was wrong and the Earth was still toxic, they would all be dead anyway.

She shoved the thought away aggressively and did all she could do—keep moving.

Abby ducked beneath a twisted piece of metal that was once a roof and entered what once was the room for dances and festivities. Now, it was teeming elbow-to-elbow with injured patients and the people attending to them. The smell hit her hard – blood and fluid and burnt flesh all pressed together into the small area – and even with all her medical experience, Abby had to work not to gag. With one arm she propped a distressed Clarke up on her hip (she didn’t like the idea of her daughter wandering around or left with a stranger), and with the other she clutched the additional bandages and medical supplies she’d retrieved from the med bay. Mercifully, most of the provisions there had been preserved, and they were doing a heap of good.

“Jackson, can you grab these?” she asked as she came up to one of her fellow medical apprentices (the youngest one), who was examining a young woman with blood caked on her face and matted in her dark hair. He turned and nodded, gathering the supplies into his own arms.

“You know, Abby,” he said just as she turned to go again, “you and Clarke need to be examined, too.”  
“I checked Clarke already,” she said wearily, though secretly she was nervous Clarke had acquired some devastating injury she couldn’t see, “and I’m perfectly fine.”

“The blood on your head seems to tell me otherwise. Come on, it’ll just take a second; plenty of people are gathering materials, and you’ve only got one hand available to help anyway.” Without allowing her to argue further, Jackson forced her into a sitting position and checked her vitals. In a bag slung around his shoulder, he had stuffed different medical supplies, and he took them out one by one as he looked Abby over, cleaned the blood from her wound – “It’s not bad, but still be careful” – and bandaged it up best he could. Then, he looked over Clarke.

“Nothing I can see,” he said, “and no signs of internal bleeding or anything from what I can tell. Clarke, honey, do you feel all right?”

Clarke mumbled, “My head....” and touched her hands to her temples.

“We’ll make it better, all right?” he said gently. Then he lifted his face to Abby. “She might have a concussion, though it’s hard to identify her symptoms with all this going on around. I’d say you should stay here with her, but I know you are needed elsewhere, so I think she should stay here with me.”

“What? No, I need to keep her with me,” Abby said stubbornly.

“Abby,” Jackson sighed, “I know you want to keep her safe, but people could die if they’re not treated, and you’re one of the best we’ve got. She’ll be okay in my care anyway; I’m just watching over the minor injuries.”

Slowly, Abby nodded, though she hated the idea of not watching over her daughter. What if something happened? But Jackson was right; though they had already done what they could for those with serious injuries, there was always more to do. So she hugged Clarke briefly, told her, “I’ll be back in a bit,” and stepped over weak, moaning bodies to find the next person to aid.

There were more survivors than she expected, but still a miniscule percentage of the original population, and a chunk of those people were small children, some no older than Clarke. They would need lots of care to survive, and there were now far too few adults to offer that protection.

_How many orphans have been made today?_

This made her think again of Jake, whom she still had not seen. She tried to ignore it, telling herself he was just helping others like she was and their paths simply had not crossed yet, but it was a weak hope and she knew it. Still, how could she simply accept her husband was dead, especially with a child they were going to raise, people they needed to help?

“Abigail,” a voice called from behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

She wiped her brow with her elbow – her gloved hands were filthy – and turned her head. It was Kane, who was standing with his hands behind his back. He looked unusually regal, she thought, almost like a chancellor. “Yes, yes, sure,” she said distractedly, and stood to face him, pulling off the gloves. “What is it?”

He swallowed slowly. “I found Jake.”

This should’ve perked up Abby immediately, but there was something about his voice that held back any inkling of hope. “Where—where is he?”

Kane wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’ll take you to him.”

They walked through the ruined Ark side by side. Abby could feel something gnawing viciously at her chest, and her stomach had twisted into an uncomfortable knot she doubted she’d be able to untie. Even if she had managed the courage to ask Kane what was going on, her throat was too closed off for a noise to come out.

Finally, they ended up into a darker area Abby had passed by early on in her efforts to gather survivors. “Over there,” Kane said, pointing and handing her a flashlight. His voice was too soft, too gentle. Nothing good could come out of it.

Abby clicked on the flashlight and aimed it in the direction Kane had showed her. There were several unrecognizable bodies, and then—she saw it. _Him._ Mussed straight hair, thickset shoulders, square jaw. And the blood. So much blood, like blossoms of red across his body, mingled with burnt flesh that obscured his features and made his lifeless eyes stand out eerily.

There was a moment where she could do nothing but stare; then her throat opened up, and what came out was a scream. It ripped through her throat and the air like a deranged sob, and she collapsed to her knees helplessly, half folding her body over Jake’s without touching him. The heartbreak was like a physical thing, and it was tearing her apart. _If I had found him before the fall...._

She bowed low over Jake’s face, shaking, and began to murmur the ceremonial words of the parted. In her mind she saw the way Jake looked at Earth, like it was a treasure, an overwhelming thing of beauty he could only slightly understand—the way he looked at her. She saw him rocking Clarke to sleep with his voice, all softness and love; looking at Abby with fear swept in the sea of determination, promising he would fix the Ark or die trying.

Her breath barely came, just a whisper. “May we meet again.”

A hand went to her back, and instinctively she flinched away from it. Unwavering, the hand patted her shoulder blades. “Abigail,” a voice murmured. _Kane._ “I’m sorry.”

Abby didn’t respond. She was numb everywhere, nothing but hollow bones and an ache somewhere in her chest.

“We have to go now, Abigail,” he said. She only mumbled incoherently, shaking her head. Had Jake died instantly, or had he struggled on before his injuries overtook him? It was the sort of the thing he would do. “ _Abby._ People need our help. They need _your_ help. There is nothing you can do for Jake now except take care of those you can.”

He was right, and Abby hated it. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved away from her dead husband, sobs still racking her body noiselessly. Her throat had become clogged again, this time with tears, so she simply nodded. Kane helped her to her feet – she felt unsteady, dizzy, like the world was tilted – and started to guide her back to the main area. He was careful to give her space and say nothing—until his eye caught something behind her shoulder and he stopped in his tracks, grabbing at her arm to stop her, too.

“What?” Abby said, fearing the worst—though what could be worse than what had already happened? Kane only flicked his head to where he was looking, openmouthed, and she spun around, wondering what on earth he was looking at.

It was a light. This wouldn’t be unusual, under other circumstances, but it was a strange light, unlike any that would come from a flashlight or even a bulb. “What—” she muttered, furrowing her eyebrows as she moved down the corridor towards the distant light. Kane followed, urging her faster, so close that when she halted in front of the source of the light he ran right into her. “Kane,” she said, urgently. “Kane, do you see it?”

“How are we alive?” he said in way of reply, and Abby shook her head because she didn’t know. She had no logical explanation as to how they were alive when right there in front of them was a gaping hole in the ship; one that poked right through to the open Earth air.

“We need to tell the others,” Abby said, coming to her senses after a moment.

“Tell them _what?"_

She turned to Kane, a fire lighting behind her eyes. “That we’ve made it. Earth is survivable, and we’ve finally made it home.”


	2. Hold Onto My Hand (Don't Let Go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finally has a home, a place where he can stop hiding his baby sister and live in peace. Or...at least for a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like Bellamy pain whoops

Earth was much better in real life.

This was all Bellamy Blake could think as he and his baby sister Octavia, who was secured in his arms carefully, were pulled out of the ruins of the Ark to see the first glimpse of his new home. There was the view, first of all—for miles each way all he could see was colors, more vibrant than he ever could’ve imagined before; rich greens and browns and yellows and, best of all, a gorgeous expanse of blue, speckled with white clouds, that swept over it all like a dome. And the _air_ —all his life Bellamy had been used to the air on the Ark, and he had never thought of it as secondhand, but now he knew better. This air was so _clean,_ so refreshing; he finally understood that old saying his mom had used sometimes, about a breath of fresh air. It seemed to purify him, cleansing his lungs and opening his airways.

“Look at it, Octavia,” he murmured, holding his sister up to the light. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She babbled in reply, and he touched his face to hers briefly, sighing out in relief. Maybe here, on Earth, things would be different. Maybe he wouldn’t have to hide her anymore, and they could finally be safe.

This hope came true, for a few days. Everyone was gathered together and the adults – his mother among them – started making a rudimentary wall while children like Bellamy and Octavia were corralled into an area and essentially left to play by themselves. It was a wonderful time, and no one questioned who the bundle in Bellamy’s arms was (there was too much else to think about, plus they probably just assumed she was an orphaned child he had grown fond of), which meant he actually got to interact with the children. A strange experience at first, considering he had mostly avoided anything like friendship since the day his sister was born, but he kept trying anyway.

It was on the third day when he saw it. He had slipped away from his ‘babysitters’ to where they were working on the fence, Octavia cradled against him as always (he rarely let her go), when in the trees, he caught a glimpse of something—no, some _one._ A figure, clad in dark colors, with a strange scar across their face. He stared for a few moments, flabbergasted, before an older woman saw him and ran over.

“What are you doing out here?” she scolded. “You’re supposed to be with the other children.”

“But I saw—” he said, struggling to point with the bundle in his arms, but it was too late anyway. The figure had slipped out of sight.

“Come on, back inside,” the woman said, turning him and keeping a hand on his back to guide him away from the edge. With a last, bemused look behind him, Bellamy let her.

After a few hours of thought back in the so-called nursery, he decided it had been a trick of the light, or someone playing a prank on him, or something. It was some trick, though; he saw several more figures later that day, and the morning after he saw maybe a dozen creeping in the tree line together. He tried to tell someone, feeling a little nervous, but no one believed a seven-year-old, especially the son of Aurora Blake.

Later, he wondered if it all could’ve turned out differently if he had just been someone else.

They came the way a tornado might—wild and fast, yet nearly unnoticeable until after the carnage had begun. Bellamy, caught in the eye of the storm within the walls of the ruined Ark, didn’t see the first wave of attacks. He didn’t see the arrows whizzing out of the undergrowth and burying themselves into the flesh of unaware adults. He didn’t see the panic fall over the others like a wave and make them entirely vulnerable to the camouflaged warriors waiting for their chance; didn’t see the fighters, each one scarred in the same way, charge with a battle cry and slice down anyone their weapons could come in reach of.

He did, however, hear the screaming, and so did everyone else huddled inside. Though not a soul knew what was going on, they all knew it could be neither good nor safe, so the adults – including Abigail Griffin, who he remembered patching up a sliced leg for him once – started herding them away. “Where are the weapons?” someone yelled. “What if we need to defend ourselves?"

“First we need to get these children to safety!” Abigail called back as she scooped up a small blonde child into her arms. “And we need to remain calm. Please, everyone, just—”

Dozens of intruders burst into the room, their swords and armor painted crimson with blood, a path of bright drops trailing behind them. Screams permeated the air as the Arkers saw the gore, realized what it meant; Bellamy just found himself frozen, unable to think. Who were these people? Why did they want to kill them?

Octavia wailed in his arms, and his mind spurred back into action. _My sister, my responsibility._ He had to protect her at all costs. Just as the first sword was swung, he sprinted in the opposite direction, followed by the others who hadn’t already been hewn down. They ran through the corridors, placing their lives on the hope the warriors would become lost in the pursuit; Bellamy’s heart was pounding, acutely aware he could die at any moment, but he just kept running, running, running.

He was fast, even with the squealing child in his arms, but though the warriors couldn’t catch up to him, the sound of their carnage could. Faintly he wondered how many were dead; how many people he’d once known now sprawled on the ground like dead animals. Bile rose up in his throat, and he forced both it and the wretched thoughts back down. _Save Octavia, then think about the consequences._

Hands brushed his back, and for a terrible moment he thought the enemy had reached him, but he realized quickly it was Abigail Griffin, sprinting with a girl – her daughter, probably – in her arms while pushing him on, too. Then she grabbed his arm and dragged him down a secluded hallway, and he began to protest madly. “They’ll get us!” he hissed.

“Shhh,” she said instead of properly replying, ducking down to a squat. He followed suit, if only to make himself harder to see if the intruders came by, and Abigail continued. “Do you think you’d be able to run fast enough to get out of here?”

Bellamy hadn’t even considered the idea before. To be honest, he hadn’t really considered anything; he was just focused on running. _Stupid,_ he thought to himself. _You didn’t even have a plan._ “Um, I think so.”

She nodded. “Then go. If you keep going down that way—” She pointed into the darkness— “you’ll come upon an exit. Force your way out if you have to, and _run._ Don’t come back until it’s safe.”

“Okay,” Bellamy said, then paused. “Wait. Are you not coming?”

“I have to protect the others,” she said, the dim light dipping her face in and out of shadow. Bellamy could hear footsteps coming closer; the intruders had stopped running, and were instead going along carefully, looking for survivors. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you do need to take Clarke with you.”

The child in her arms turned, wide-eyed, and stared at Bellamy. He stared back. “What?”

“Clarke’s not safe with me,” she said, ignoring quiet, muffled protests from her daughter as she peeled the girl off her neck. “I’m not leaving you, honey,” she said, turning her eyes to the shaking blonde. “I’ll get you all as soon as it’s safe, okay? For now, though, go with this boy here. He’s going to take care of you. Won’t you?”

The last words were pointed at Bellamy, and he nodded immediately, even though he was terrified he would fail. He adjusted Octavia in his arms so he could free a hand – previously he had stopped the baby’s crying with a finger in her mouth, but now he had to simply bury her face against his shoulder and pray – and reached out to Clarke. “Come on, let’s go.”

Looking rightly terrified, Clarke took his hand. It was so small and fragile. Trying to reassure her, he squeezed her fingers lightly, then ran off before they could stall any longer.

_Run. Protect. Hide. Save._ The self-issued orders rang through Bellamy’s head as he sprinted with the two girls in tow. They weren’t going as fast as he would’ve liked, but it was either that or leave Clarke behind, which he wasn’t going to do. _Just keep running,_ he repeated to himself. _Just get them out of here._

Eventually he got out through the exit Clarke’s mother had told him about, and he kicked them into higher gear. They were more vulnerable here; the ground people could find them, or send others waiting in the trees. The thought almost stopped him short, but there was no turning back now. On he ran, farther and farther until he was surrounded by trees and his legs had given out. Knowing they couldn’t stay in the open, he pulled his sister and Clarke, who was breathing worriedly hard, into a tiny alcove that barely fit their bodies.

“It’s okay,” he told Clarke, who was mumbling and had begun to cry now that the adrenaline was dying down. He pulled her close to him, Octavia in the center, and whispered, “Sleep for a while. In a little bit, when it’s safe, we can go back.” He didn’t add that he had no idea when it would be safe, if it ever was at all, or that the people they loved might not be waiting for them when they got there. It would be too much strain on her. Instead, he patted down her hair, nuzzled Octavia gently with his nose, and waited until they had fallen asleep.

It was his plan to stay awake to watch for predators, human or animal, and scout out if it was safe to return to the Ark. But exhaustion hung over Bellamy like a heavy wool blanket, and he soon succumbed to its embrace.

-

Octavia’s crying was what pulled Bellamy out of sleep, but something much more worrying made him sit straight up.

_Clarke._ She wasn’t next to him; she wasn’t in the alcove at all. He felt his heart beating more frantically. Where had she gone? And _when_ had she gone? Depending on how long ago she had slipped off – or been taken – she could be anywhere by now, in any state. If he had controlled his exhaustion for just a little longer....

Bellamy shoved the thought aside, if only because finding Clarke was his priority. He gathered Octavia to him, not even caring that she had clearly soiled herself, and set out immediately. At first he just looked through the surrounding area, hoping to find her wandering, or some tracks, or _something._ Then, when there were no signs of her, he grew desperate. “Clarke!” he yelled, feeling too quiet for her to hear him but too loud to escape anyone else’s notice. “Clarke, come back! It’s Bellamy, it’s the boy who got you out! _Clarke!”_

Hours and hours went by; he would’ve thought them days if the sun hadn’t told him otherwise. With each passing moment, he felt his knotted stomach twist tighter. He threw up once, but it didn’t ease the nausea. He’d lost her. Abigail had entrusted him with her child and he had lost her in the wilderness. The thought of going back now was almost too awful to imagine—and yet he knew he had to. Maybe he was incompetent, but surely a whole group of people could find her. _If there’s a whole group left._

It was his only option, despite his hatred of the idea, so reluctantly Bellamy picked his way back. The journey was a long one, because he had to avoid being seen and he struggled to remember which way he came – not to mention the weight of his mistake weighing down on him – but eventually he could see the ruined Ark in the distance. Desperate for anything familiar, even that place, he ran towards it, and saw that – thank the gods above – there wasn’t any more fighting, as far as he could tell. There were, however, armed guards stationed in a menacing dark wall around the camp, and the entrails of warfare scattered everywhere. Bellamy didn’t think he’d ever see a sight, and the worst part was it didn’t sicken him as much as it did the day before.

“Hello? Please!” he yelled, trying to force the words through the rock in his throat. “My name is Bellamy Blake, I’m—”

A guard rushed forward, and Bellamy stopped, suddenly afraid of what they’d do, but they didn’t hurt him. Instead, they grasped his arm and lead him back inside, scouting the space around them as they went. “Are you all right? Hurt?”

He shook his head quickly. “We’re fine. But I need to see Abigail Griffin—it’s very important.”

They stepped inside the main corridor, and Bellamy struggled to focus on the guard’s voice through the images of blossoming screams and scarlet-painted chests. “Abby? Why do you need to see her?”

“It’s—it’s about her daughter. Please, sir, I need to see her _now._ ”

The guard nodded, though they didn’t seem entire convinced, and directed him to where Abigail was staying. He followed the steps carefully, forcing himself to hurry his step despite the apprehension carving through his veins, and knocked on the proper door.

It was a few moments before Abigail answered; she looked misshapen, almost unhinged. She stared at him for a full second before registering who he was and then her eyes widened. “Oh! Hello....”

“Bellamy,” he filled in, realizing she’d never learned his name.

“Hi, Bellamy,” she said softly. Then something scraped the edge of her tone; worry, maybe, or fear. “Where’s Clarke?”

Logically, Bellamy knew it wasn’t possible for his heart to sink; it was always in the same place, slightly to the left on his chest, just like his mom showed him. But he felt himself doubting that fact when Abigail uttered those dreadful words – _where’s Clarke_ – and his heart sank so low it scraped against the floor, taking his stomach with it. “I—” He was shaking horribly, and there were already tears running down his cheeks, so surely Abigail knew his answer already, but he had to get it out. “I lost her. We were sleeping in a cave, and I nodded off without meaning to, and when I woke up she was gone.” The woman dropped to a squat position and opened her mouth as if to say something, but he hurried on. “I looked for her, I swear; I looked all day, and I was calling to her but I just couldn’t find her, and I don’t know if she wandered off or was taken, but it’s all my fault and I... _I’m so sorry._ ”

Abigail stared at him for a moment, then – almost absently, like she didn’t realize she was doing it – she pulled him (and, subsequently, Octavia) into her arms. Tears stung Bellamy’s eyes and pooled on the woman’s shoulder, but he had no strength to wipe them away or calm down. He could feel wetness on his head where Abigail had momentarily buried her face, then she pulled back, eyes red and face contorted into something awful. She was trying to smile, he realized, trying to lift the corners of her mouth even as her face sunk into a wretched frown.

“It’s okay, Bellamy,” she said, and he almost stopped crying in shock. Those were the last words he’d expected to hear. “You kept her safe as long as you could, all right? Knowing my Clarke, she wandered away and found another little cave to sleep in. I’ll send as many people as I can right now to find her, okay? We’ll find her and bring her back and it will all be right.”

Bellamy nodded as if in agreement, but it seemed Abigail was trying to convince herself more than him.

Just as Abigail said, a group of armed guards set out to look for the small girl as soon as Bellamy was sent back to the children. They came back emptyhanded, but this didn’t faze someone like Abigail Griffin; she just gave everyone that weak, empty smile, and the next day they went out again. And again. And again.

It wasn’t until a month later, when Bellamy found Abigail curled up in an abandoned corner, sobbing hopelessly, that he knew the search had ended. Clarke Griffin, the brave princess of the Ark, was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to say it'll take me a week to update this but who knows lol sorry. (bellarke is coming soon i swearrr)
> 
> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr <3333


	3. Somewhere Down This Road I Know Someone's Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clair kom trikru is content...kind of. And then she goes looking for trouble

Lincoln entered his village with a clean sword and empty hands—exactly the opposite of what he’d been hoping for when he left for the hunt. It was midday, which meant the place was bustling with gatherers struggling to balance baskets as they hurried into their huts; vendors offering dented plates and armor; bands of small children fighting with sticks while their older counterparts sparred with dull swords or fists. He slid between the crowds to reach his own home and slipped inside, wanting nothing more than to just lie down.

“Lincoln, you’re back,” his little sister said, standing from where she had been sketching in the corner. Sometimes Lincoln wondered if she ever left her little crook, at least when it was light outside.

He nodded. “You’re getting better with the language.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that to me? I taught you half of what you know.”

“Sure, sure, Clair, whatever makes you feel good,” he said, ruffling her hair just to tease her. She hated when he did that—“it makes me feel like I’m six again,” she kept telling him. Secretly, Lincoln wished she _was_ six again. She was easier to manage back then, not to mention she possessed much less sass.

“I’m assuming you didn’t catch anything, unless you’ve got some bugs stowed in a pocket,” Clair said after batting him away.

Lincoln shrugged playfully. “None I meant to bring along.”

“Well, if you find a tarantula, scrape off the hair before you eat it, otherwise it tastes like—” Clair cut off abruptly, just as Lincoln heard the swoosh of someone entering the hut. He turned and saw, to his great surprise, the leader of their tribe standing in her full armor and paint. “Heya, Anya,” he said carefully in Trigedasleng, knowing Anya’s detestation of English.

“Linkon,” she said curtly. “Osir ste gon we.” _We’re leaving._ Lincoln gave a questioning look, and she continued, “Gonakru don Skaikru up. Oso souda lok em veida tro op fou bilaik emo hon emo sobwe op.” _The warriors located sky people. We must find the enemy patrol before they reach the tunnels._

Clair spoke up. “Ai gon sis yu au.” _I’ll help you._

Anya regarded Clair, with her braided light hair and too-clean face, with something like distaste. “No, gada.”

Lincoln could physically see his sister bristle at being called a girl. “Ai gaf kamp gonakru raun.” _I need to be with the army._

“Yu no ste yuj,” Anya replied, still standing firm. “Linkon—”

“I _am_ strong!” Clair growled, and inwardly Lincoln groaned. When his sister got really upset, she slipped into English, and there was no stopping her until she’d finished. “I can spar with anyone you throw at me. I’ve helped strategize. I know how to heal _and_ fight. Just because I wasn’t born into the village, you think—”

_“Em pleni,”_ Lincoln cut in, putting his hand on Clair’s shoulder to stop her from continuing and saying something especially stupid, but Anya raised a hand.

“If you come,” she said, using the language almost mockingly, “I am not responsible for you, nor will I go out of my way to save you. You may have learned some skill living here, but you do not yet have respect for your heda.”

Clair’s jaw seemed permanently locked, but she nodded, and soon after they were on the hunt.

-

They were tucked in the back section of the group, which Clair was fairly certain Lincoln had done on purpose. It grated on her that he didn’t equate her abilities to capability; although, she did have to admit she should’ve expected it, especially from her brother of all people. He was nothing if not protective.

Not for the first time, Clair rolled the word _brother_ over and over on the tip of her tongue. It came easily to call him that, but she knew he wasn’t really her brother, at least by blood. If it wasn’t clear enough by their features – his rich, golden skin versus her light matte tone – Lincoln had raised her on the story of how they had come to be family. “I found you in the forest,” he’d say, using that over-dramatic tone of voice that had been extremely fascinating as a young child. “Who knows how long you’d been there; you couldn’t seem to say. You didn’t say much, actually. You just muttered something about a bell and cried for your mama.”

“Who was my mother?” Clair would ask, and each time Lincoln would only shrug.

“I have no idea. You had nothing tying you to a person, or even a kru, to be honest—your clothes were wretchedly ragged, and you were covered in grime and dirt and other things I couldn’t identify. Any trace of a clan had been buried, and you looked like you hadn’t eaten real food in days, plus you kept shaking and flinching like something was coming for you, so I did what any young boy would—I took you home.”

This, thought Clair as they trudged on towards, was the one true lie in his story. Adopting a weak, unidentified toddler was not what any young boy would do; in fact, most children would’ve left her there for the wild animals, or perhaps killed her themselves. But Lincoln wasn’t some simple Woods clan member. He was everything people like Anya despised; he found the good in everyone, and he was much quicker to pick up a flower than a sword, even with his formidable combat skills. Sometimes it caused problems, but Clair owed her life to it.

Maybe ten minutes into the journey, Anya stopped the group and ordered them to take cover and wait for further commands. Clair climbed high into one of the pine trees, Lincoln crouched in the undergrowth directly below her, and looked out over the empty expanse of forest in front of her. As they always did when she left the village, her senses came into sharp, vibrant focus; every rustle, every movement, every breath, like gunshots in her ears. The tension was nearly palpable, a second skin, and it fed her worries about the patrol. She’d seen sky people often enough, during the many changes in treaties and agreements between them and all the clans, but Anya made this group seem dangerous. (Although, to be fair, Anya made all sky people seem dangerous. She wasn’t a big fan, treaty or not.)

They waited in silence so long Clair was ready to jump out of the tree just so something would _happen_ —when she saw them. Twelve figures, huddled in a tight-knit group, guns held loosely between their fingers as they scanned for danger. She watched them in near awe, struck by how... _normal_ they seemed. How familiar.

“We’re too close to the boundaries,” one man said, and Clair turned her gaze to him. Dark curls hung in an unruly manner over his tanned, freckled face, and his stance seemed to possess more confidence than he had. “Let’s turn around and go back.”

“Oh, come on, Bellamy, what are they going to do? Kill us?” a younger girl said a little irritably.

“Yes, Monroe,” Bellamy said simply, inclining only his eyes to her. They were dark and sad; Clair wondered what horrors he had witnessed. “If they worried you were a threat, they would kill you right where you stand.”

Monroe swallowed, then looked away.

“Move out!” Bellamy said, his voice low and commanding, and the patrol did as he said. Clair inwardly sighed in relief as their rhythmic footsteps receded into the distance; for a moment she was worried they would continue on to the borders, and she didn’t want to fight them. In fact, she felt strangely drawn to them; a string tied to her soul with the other end attached just out of reach.

_“Clair.”_

“Sorry,” she mumbled, seeing Lincoln waiting impatiently at the bottom of the tree. The group had already started moving. “I’m coming.”

Clair shimmied to the ground and rejoined the mass of warriors headed back to camp. Slowly, she fell behind, distracted by the tugging sensation she’d felt towards the Skaikru patrol. She’d always had that longing sensation, really; always felt – known – her clan didn’t belong to her the way she belonged to them. But now that feeling had a name, a face, and the curiosity was clawing at her.

A crunch pulled Clair momentarily from her thoughts. It was a distinct sound, that of boots on crinkled autumn undergrowth, and she stopped in her tracks. _Someone’s following us._ Slowly, she turned towards the sound, hand straying to the sword at her side. The army was still moving ahead, unaware of the disturbance, and Clair found herself grateful for it—whatever it was, she wanted to handle it herself.

Another step sounded in Clair’s ears, and she heard the barest traces of muttering. Were there several of them, then? Only one way to find out. She went towards the sound, keeping her footsteps quiet and her fingers against her sword, ready to unsheathe the weapon if need be. Violence wasn’t something she liked unnecessarily, but if it was to protect her or her people, surely she could—

“What are you doing?”

A figure materialized in her vision—the Skaikru patrol leader, she realized; Bellamy or something. She noted the details about him she hadn’t seen initially—the faded scars connecting freckles like constellations; the chiseled jaw line and dimpled chin. He was attractive, she admitted. For a sky person.

Currently his gun was clenched in his fingers, but not held out towards her; she wasn’t sure for how long. “What are you doing?” he repeated, when she stared for a few moments without a good explanation. “You’re over border lines.”

“Really? I—I didn’t realize,” Clair said lamely.

Bellamy looked her over with an expression she couldn’t quite place. “You speak the language, I see.”

“It’s not that strange to speak English,” Clair said, somehow already annoyed with the guy.

“So you can explain perfectly why you’re in Skaikru territory.”

“I told you, I didn’t know I was over borders.” He gave her a pointed look and she huffed. “It’s not like there are defined border lines.”

“There are. The river is the border.”

“Yes, the river that curves off _three miles east._ It’s not like I can walk to the bend and trace out my steps every time there’s a patrol.”

Amusement bled into Bellamy’s dark eyes. “So there was a patrol near the borders. Your commander claimed she wouldn’t be in this area all week.”

Clair shifted her weight uncomfortably. “We heard of a disturbance a few miles outside of our camp. I just...wandered off. Heard a noise, which was apparently you chalking the border lines for trespassers.”

The side of his mouth jumped momentarily, causing a drily humorous expression with only his eyes hinting at...something else. “Wouldn’t be the first time I was responsible for a girl wandering off.”

Before Clair could decide whether she wanted to know what he meant by that, Bellamy straightened suddenly. Caught off guard, she simply watched as his eyes glanced over her face, her hair, her clothes, more precisely; his gun fell loosely to his side as he made to circle around her.

“What are you—why are you circling me?” Clair protested, turning back and forth in an attempt to follow his movements. “Were you a vulture in a past life or something?”

“No, no,” he said distractedly. “It’s just—” He lowered his head and began to speak in a more whispered tone, mostly to himself. “There’s no way to know, really; after all, she was just a toddler...but then _Abby_ wouldn’t know either....”

“What are you talking about?”

Bellamy met her gaze again, seeming surprised as well, like he’d forgotten she was still paying attention. “I was just—you look a lot like a Griffin.”

Clair rolled her eyes; she knew this story. “What, because I’m blonde and blue-eyed you’re suddenly convinced I’m that ‘lost princess of the ark’ everyone’s been fawning over what, ten years?”

“More like sixteen, but...yeah.”

Sixteen years. The length of time she’d been with Lincoln.

“Well, that’s a pretty big assumption to make with one glance,” Clair said slowly, “considering how big of a deal the lost princess is to your people.”

Bellamy shrugged. “You weren’t raised in Trikru, were you?”

Clair bristled, unnerved. “Actually, I was. I was born in...well, I’m actually not sure about it, but I _was_ raised in a Trikru family. They found me and took me in. End of story.”

“What’s your name?” Bellamy asked, completely undeterred. What did it take to get _rid_ of this guy?

“Clair kom Trikru,” Clair said, dutifully accenting the last word.

His eyebrow raised again; maybe it’d get stuck that way. “Clair.”

“Yes. Clair.”

“The lost princess’s name is Clarke. Clair...Clarke....”

“You’re saying you want me to believe you,” Clair said meticulously, folding her arms across her chest, “because I look like a lost two-year-old with a similar name?”

“I’m saying,” he said, “there’s someone you might want to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr :)
> 
> Kudos and comments are soooooooooooooo appreciated, come at me!
> 
> Update soon? Hopefully? Still in the works


	4. Journey to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Miller have a proposition for Clair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet you thought i forgot about this. well, i did. sort of. but let's cross our fingers i update soonish lol

This hadn’t been the plan...originally.

Originally Bellamy was going to painstakingly choose between candidates—test them on every fact of the lost princess of the Ark; check their appearance, posture, attitude, anything that could factor into their believability. He was going to convince Abby, even if it took hours, or days, or months, and gain back the freedom he and Octavia had lost. He was going to do it _right_ —even if what he was doing was maybe, hypothetically, possibly _very, very wrong._

Well, originally the plan was to raise Octavia in peace and make her happy without any problems, but as the weight of the jacket on his shoulders and the slowly healing scars reminded him, that plan had gone up in flames long before. Sixteen years before.

Was it really so bad anyway, if he was going to be doing good for Octavia? Filling the void in Abby he had created, even temporarily? Did it really matter how he helped them, as long as he did?

Anyway, Bellamy hadn’t pointed a gun at ‘Clair kom Trikru’ with the intention of sneaking her into Skaikru territory to show her off to Miller. It had just...happened. There was something about her defiance, the way her eyes challenged him without words, that sent words tumbling out of his mouth before he could filter them. It was— _annoying,_ almost. Something he couldn’t quite grasp at.

Clair hung just behind him, crouched low with her head half-hung to hide her face. She had shed the outermost layers of her armor, but her clothes were still distinctly grounder, and Bellamy didn’t have time to deal with any of his people seeing her. “Where are we going again?” she asked, for maybe the fifth time.

“Less talking, more stealth,” Bellamy hissed back. “Unless you enjoy getting caught in enemy territory.”

“We’re not enemies,” Clair rehearsed, but he could hear the hesitation in her voice.

“Even allies have a great habit of burying bullets into each other’s brains,” Bellamy said simply, and pushed them further, using the alleyways and side paths he’d taken since he was a child. They were wet from the recent rain and reeked of mud and trash; gray buildings hung over them menacingly as they passed, long fingers of light reaching between buildings for something Bellamy could not see.

“I thought Skaikru was supposed to be prosperous,” Clair accused as she sidestepped a pile of old, ripped clothing someone had thrown out their back door.

Bellamy looked harshly over his shoulder at her and she stopped cold. “So did I.”

Clair didn’t talk much after that. He pushed her on faster, not wanting to be out in the open when the work stopped and everyone flooded the streets to go home to their families, and dragged her to the back entrance of an abandoned building.

It was definitely not a pretty sight—the paint was peeling so badly it looked like someone had raked their claws down the side of the place, and the entrance had been boarded up with a sign reading, _Danger! Do not enter. Hazardous._ If that weren’t enough, it also smelled of something rotten.

Grinning, Bellamy inclined his head to Clair, who was looking at the building with severe distaste, and gestured to the entrance dramatically. “After you.”

She stared at him, openly aghast. “You can’t be serious. It says _hazardous._ ”

Bellamy shrugged. “I’ve been here for months, and I’m still alive.” Then, without thinking, he added, “Miller’s a pretty good artist, though, isn’t he?”

Clair narrowed her eyes at him, and he tensed, realizing his mistake. Then she seemed to decide she didn’t care much about who Miller was or why he was forging hazardous signs. “Is it really hazardous, though, or is that part of the ruse?” she asked, peering at the sign and boarding with more interest. She was surprisingly unconcerned with illegal actions; maybe she’d be helpful after all.

“Well, it’s not full of toxins or booby-traps or floorboards ready to break through, if that’s what you mean,” he mused. “But it is old, so you have to be a little delicate at times. No parties, or redecorating.”

“Ah, well, there goes all my plans,” Clair said.

(A snarky sense of humor, too? Either Bellamy was going to love this girl, or he’d end up locking her in a suitcase before they even got upstairs.)

“So, how do we get in? I’m assuming you don’t redo your little art project here every time you want to come and go.”

Bellamy nodded and pointed to a tree growing beside the building, whose thickest branch was attached to the second story of the old house. “That’s your way in.”

Clair gave him a distinct look and he shrugged innocently. “You could try to wriggle through all of the boards,” he offered, “but even if you could manage it you’d have to get find your way to the stairs in the dark. There’s nothing interesting on the main floor, in case anyone gets curious, and it’s awfully dusty.”

Huffing, Clair went to the tree and caught at the lowest branch – it was fairly amusing, how she had to jump for it when Bellamy only had to lift up on his toes a little bit – and pulled herself up. She caught his contained laugh and glared. “Are you coming or what?”

“Don’t know how you’d make it alive if I didn’t,” Bellamy replied with a sarcastic smile, hopping up to join her. Purposefully getting close to her face – maybe to intimidate her, maybe just to see how she’d react – he added, “Get moving, or someone will notice you.”

“Someone already did; that’s why I’m here,” she shot back, breath hot on his face, then moved away and scrambled up to the next floor and crawled in through the window without Bellamy even needing to tell her what to do.

He blinked, then followed her inside.

The second floor of the old house was much better than the first. Miller and he had left most of the old furniture in, so it had a vintage feel to it without an added cost Bellamy couldn’t afford. The walls were covered with faded portraits and artwork taken from the Ark, as well as some newer paintings; the floor was lined with thick carpet, and a rug had been placed right where they stood to take off their mud-covered shoes. Bellamy led Clair past the main entrance, making sure the window was locked behind them, and into a smaller, more cluttered area stacked high with books, records, and loose papers. Miller was in the back corner of this room, asleep in a chair.

Bellamy sighed. So much for first impressions. “Miller, wake up,” he said gruffly, shaking the man’s shoulder.

Miller stirred slowly, meeting Bellamy’s eyes with a sleepy, grumpy expression. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet,” he groaned.

“You don’t even know what time it is,” Bellamy pointed out. “For all you know, I could be four days late.”

“That’s completely irrelevant,” Miller said, waving him off. “Did you make any progress with—” He noticed Clair, who was standing behind Bellamy uncertainly, and sat up immediately. “Oh. Um, hello.”

“You’re Miller?” Clair asked, ignoring all formalities.

Miller wiped the blurriness from his eyes and stood; Bellamy moved aside. “Yep. And you must be a...Bellamy brought you in?” he finished hastily, seeing Bellamy’s measured look.

Clair nodded eagerly. “He said there was someone I needed to meet, and I’m assuming that’s you, since he brought me here. Seems to think I could be the lost princess you guys have been fawning over.”

Miller glanced at Bellamy quickly, seeming to ask, _Are you really screwing up our plan already?_

_Just go with it,_ Bellamy told him with a small raise of his eyebrows.

“Oh, really? Then I suppose I am a good person for you to meet. I’ve been...interested in the lost princess for some time now, though not as long as Bellamy.” ( _You have no idea,_ Bellamy thought, but stayed quiet.) “What’s your name?”

“Clair kom Trikru, though he claims it’s Clarke,” Clair said, sticking out her hand. Miller shook. “So, first things first—I figure I should get your real intentions out of the way, since I still haven’t managed to formulate a good reason why either of you actually care whether or not I’m this Griffin girl. What do you really want?”

Bellamy and Miller glanced at each other nervously. She was clever. Bellamy couldn’t stand clever, especially when it outwitted him. “Do you assume everyone does things for you out of a selfish interest?”

She shrugged. “It’s never a good idea to assume anyone has altruistic intentions; otherwise you just play right into their hands.”

After a moment of thought, Bellamy decided the truth – or some of it, anyway – would have to do. “You already seem to know the lost princess is a famous fairy tale, but she’s also an expensive one. Her mother is desperate, even after all these years, and has a reward for anyone who finds her daughter.”

“So you want money then? Typical.” This wasn’t actually true, but Bellamy didn’t want to correct her. She continued, “Why do I need you two then? Why couldn’t I just go see this woman and see if I’m her daughter?”

“Do you know the way to Arkadia’s capital?” Miller pointed out; Clair sunk a little and shook her head. Bellamy forced himself not to show how much pleasure it gave him to see her knocked down a peg. “Also, even if you’re the real Clarke Griffin, Abby might not be convinced so easily. There have been some...scammers.” Miller shot Bellamy a quick, sly look, and Bellamy gave him a sharp one right back. It was a little too close to the truth to be telling this girl about people bringing phony Clarkes up to Camp Griffin.

“So what, I fake being her daughter so she knows I’m the real one?” Clair thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Not the worst path I could’ve taken. All right, I’m in. And if it’s all wrong, no harm no foul, right?”

Bellamy smiled; at least she wasn’t too noble to be involved in shady operations, because she’d be in a lot of those soon. “Well, then like I said before, everything’s fit so far. We just need to compare you against our information to see if you’re a perfect fit.”

“Okay, but one problem,” Miller said. “Clarke Griffin was _two_ when she got lost, and children can’t retain memory early than four. Plus, she clearly remembers nothing anyway, if she thinks we have to prove it to her.”

“Not necessarily,” Bellamy cut in, thinking involuntarily of Octavia. “Even toddlers who have trauma can remember it later, especially if they experience something that reminds them of it.”

“Except recreating that scene would be a no-go, since the grounders are not currently coming to kill us and we’re not in the same area as the landing of the Ark,” Miller pointed out.

“Actually, I have an idea,” Bellamy said, holding up a finger to hold off Miller’s wave of words. “But it might take a little bit of walking and it’ll be dark soon, so if we want to do this we have to now.”

“You mean if _I_ want to do this,” Clair cut in, “since you seem to be circling this whole thing around me.”

Bellamy clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying something rude. “All right. Do _you_ want to do this?”

She lifted her chin imperiously. “No. But I figure I might as well, to make you two have some closure or whatever.”

“Hey, don’t be acting like we’re desperate for your approval,” Bellamy shot, taking a step towards her. “You were the one who agreed to come, so quit turning this on Miller and me like we’re some idiots who don’t know better—”

“And that’s all for you two,” Miller interrupted, pushing himself between Bellamy and Clair. “Let’s just go to the trauma spot before I get a new one in here.”

Bellamy glared at Clair, and she glared back for a moment, then they huffed and broke eye contact, stepping back. “All right, good,” Miller grunted. “Bellamy, you’re the expert. Lead the way.”

It was even slower getting out of town than in, since the scout parties changed shifts right about this time; Bellamy walked in front, keeping Clarke just a foot or two behind him so she’d be easy to keep track of while Miller took the rear as a back-watch. He guided them slowly from the house back the way they came, taking a few different routes to keep as far away from the main scouter building as possible—partially because Bellamy didn’t want any risk of being spotted, since they’d all recognize his face, and partially because Clair had far too little stealth to not be spotted.

Eventually, they came upon a set of woods all too familiar to Bellamy. He half-expected to see the path stripped of grass from the wear of military boots passing over it every day for months; hear the bloodcurdling screams chasing him faster than he could run; feel Octavia in his arms, coiled in blankets and shaking, and Clarke’s hand grasping his desperately. The feelings were definitely still there, at least—the terror, exhaustion, horror, shame, and eventual heartbreak.

He turned to look at Clair. She didn’t look haunted, but there was an uneasiness in her expression, like she could be. Like she was close.

“Let’s keep going,” he said slowly, only tearing his eyes away from her when she caught him looking, and they continued down memory lane deeper into the forest.

As they walked, Bellamy let Clair get a few feet ahead to look around more so he could walk with Miller, who seemed about to burst with questions. “What are we doing out here, Bellamy?” he hissed. “Griffin’s going to check if the girl looks and acts like Clarke, not if she looks properly horrified going through some random forest where she may or may not have been.”

“She was, if she’s the real Clarke,” Bellamy said.

“Does it _matter?_ Anyway, I suppose you still won’t tell me how you know where we’re going, seeing as only Griffin’s conies were allowed to know the area in which Clarke was lost,” Miller added, a little hopefully.

“I already _have_ told you,” Bellamy squirmed. “I’ve learned a lot from my time researching the princess.”

“Which you seem much more interested in I am, despite the fact you keep telling me you only want the reward.”

Bellamy’s jaw locked up and he turned his face away for a moment, trying to gather himself. He couldn’t tell Miller the truth. No one knew he was the young boy who led Clarke into the forest; he’d been forgotten from that legend, but if people knew.... It was enough to bear the knowledge all of this was his fault, to exploit his own past to dig himself out of poverty, but if Miller found out, too, especially when they were still so far from the goal, it could ruin everything. Wreck his trust, his friendship, the possibility of ever being normal again.

“Bellamy? An answer maybe?” Miller asked, nudging Bellamy with his shoulder.

Swallowing hard, Bellamy muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and quickened his pace to catch up with Clair, who was looking around the woods with a tight sort of wonder.

“Hey, don’t go wandering too far ahead,” he warned, a little more sharply than he intended. He grabbed at her wrist and she whirled, ready to snap back, probably, just as an arrow whirled past both their faces and stuck in a tree.

Bellamy blinked, then dropped Clair’s hand.

Miller came up from behind, gripping Bellamy’s arm urgently. “A grounder,” he muttered. Cautiously, Bellamy looked over at the same time Clair did and saw a tall, well-build man with the distinct armor of a forest clan member and another arrow already notched in his bow, aimed directly at Bellamy’s chest.

Opening his mouth, Bellamy prepared to say something to calm the grounder down, but Clair beat him to it, stepping in front of him with her arm raised in an almost protective manner. “Drop the bow,” she told the man.

Bellamy looked at her, eyebrows raising. “You know him then?”

She looked back with tight lips and just the barest traces of a smirk. “I do indeed. Boys, this is Lincoln. My brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bellarke interaction? whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? get ready for more Platonic nonsense yall. it's coming i swear
> 
> (tell me if you like where it's going and all that, btw! <3)
> 
> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr


	5. It's a Rumor, a Legend, a Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things to figure out before they leave, but Clair just can't figure out Bellamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick update? what is this? but seriously i would love to keep these updates pretty quick/consistent but don't hope for anything lol, i have 80000 wips
> 
> ~actual bellarke interaction i know you can cry~

“Your brother,” Bellamy said dumbly.

“Clarke Griffin didn’t have a brother,” Miller hissed beside him, not quite quiet enough to keep Clair from overhearing.

She sighed and dropped the hand she’d put half around Bellamy. “He’s not my blood brother,” she said, “but he’ll protect me like one. Speaking of which....” She sent a withering look to Lincoln, who was still focused on Bellamy. “I told you already, put that away.”

“I won’t shoot if he steps away and leaves you alone,” Lincoln replied, low and demanding.

“Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t be opposed, but I need him for something.” Clair sighed. “Look, he didn’t kidnap me or anything, Lincoln, it’s okay. Can you please just let me explain? Without shooting my companions?”

Clair felt Bellamy’s gaze slide over to her at the word _companions_ and tensed a little. She hadn’t meant it like that, like they were a group now; she’d just been trying to ease Lincoln’s mind. It was too late to take back now, though, so she offered Bellamy only a glance in return.

Lincoln shifted his gaze back to Bellamy and glared at him harshly, as if he were trying to see through his very soul. Bellamy stared back defiantly, and after a long moment Lincoln caved. “Fine,” he growled, lowering his weapon and stepping forward, though she noticed his fingers were still itching over the string like he was ready to lift it again.

“ _Away,_ Lincoln. I don’t want you killing anyone, especially when you’re technically over boundary lines.”

“So are you,” Lincoln grumbled, but slung the bow over his back nonetheless. “All right, explain.”

“First things first—introductions. This is Miller, and this is Bellamy. They’re from Skaikru, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Lincoln said, skirting his eyes over the two of them again, but with less distaste this time. “How’d you end up with them anyway?”

“By accident, at first, but now...well, it’s sort of a long story.”

Lincoln crossed his arms. “I’ve got time.”

Bellamy explained the situation again, including the story of the lost princess since Lincoln wasn’t very familiar with it; he was oddly careful to be precise about all the details, adding where he’d heard this or that as if it was helpful to the situation. She sort of wanted to tell him to hurry up, but forced herself to be quiet until he finished.

Lincoln turned directly to her. “So?”

Clair gave him a look. “So, what?”

“Do you believe them?”

Clair swallowed hard, remembering the lump in her stomach as they walked through the same path a two-year-old girl had once taken, like there was a flood of memories waiting to burst out of her. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted them to, but most of her was too desperate and curious to resist. “Yes. Or, at least, it’s a possibility.” Lincoln started to say something, probably wanting to argue, but she cut in. “You don’t know where I came from, right? You always talk about family, and I could find mine, Lincoln. The one I lost.”

He hesitated before letting out a resigned sigh. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

It was Miller who voiced her thoughts. _“What?”_

“If you’re going on some journey to find your maybe-mother in Skaikru territory, so am I. You don’t get to find one family and leave the other behind.”

Clair paled a little. “Lincoln, that’s not what I meant—”

“I know that,” he said, softer, and put a hand on her shoulder. “But I’m not letting you go without me, either. I have to make sure you’re safe, right?”

“We’re not exactly going to throw her in a pit,” Bellamy started to protest, but Lincoln cut him off sharply.

“Thanks for the input, but I didn’t ask you. It’ll take more than words for your trust to be earned with me.”

Bellamy stayed quiet after that.

“All right. Say you do come with us,” Clair said slowly, working it out in her brain. “Will the plan still work? I mean, getting one non-sky person through was going to be hard enough, and you’re much larger and tattooed than I am.”

“Most of that isn’t too hard, once we get you cleaned up,” Miller shrugged. “With a new set of clothes and a way to hide some of those tattoos, it’s just a matter of how to get you there, really. Mrs. Griffin moved a long way away.”

“I don’t suppose getting new clothes is going to involve more walking, is it?” Clair groaned, only half joking. “My legs are killing me.”

“Alas, it will,” Bellamy said. He was actually _smiling_ a little bit, rather than his usual sarcastic smirk, though he hid it fairly well. “But don’t worry, there’s way more walking to come.”

They headed back to town, but split up once they arrived—Miller and Lincoln one way, Bellamy and Clair the other. Lincoln argued about this, of course, but Clair insisted she could handle herself and they parted ways.

She and Bellamy snuck through a back alleys – she did her best to remain quiet, overly aware of Bellamy’s eyes on her every time she made a sound – and ended up in front of a small but intimidating building with a sign in large, sloppy block letters: _Juvenile Center._

“Is this a prison or something?” she asked, looking over the building with distaste. Did Bellamy go anywhere that _wasn’t_ creepy?

Bellamy laughed; it had a weirdly nice ring to it. “Not legally, but you’ve got the idea down. This is where the troublemaking kids go now instead of the skybox like they did in space. When they turn eighteen, they either join society again or go to an official prison if they haven’t gotten their lives together.”

“And we’re here to...what? Steal some criminal kids’ clothes?”

“Not us, just me. You’ll wait outside.” He paused, then added, “And they’re my sister’s clothes, but yes.”

Then, being the dramatic type she already figured him out to be, he slipped inside without giving a further explanation.

She nearly went in after him before remembering he’d told her to wait outside – which made sense, since getting caught breaking into a building in a town that she didn’t belong in was sort of doubly bad – and huffed, going to the side and sitting against the wall.

While she waited, Clair tried to go over everything that had happened. The scouting mission with Lincoln already felt like years ago, though it must’ve only been a few hours. And now she was going on an illegal adventure with her brother and two strangers to _maybe_ find her long-lost mother. It was crazy at best, and definitely the worst idea she’d ever had, but somehow...somehow she couldn’t imagine backing out. The experience in the forest was too real for that, and besides, there was something about Bellamy—a secret, something he wasn’t sharing with anyone. She was itching to pry it out.

Sometime later – a few minutes? An hour? It was getting harder and harder to tell – she heard the click of a door and a voice hissing, “You out here, Princess?”

“You did not just call me that,” she replied, standing and entering the light.

He shrugged, not even bothering to conceal his smug smirk. “Better get used to it, if you really think you’re the real deal.”

“If _you_ really thought I was the real deal, you’d be a little nicer,” she muttered, then noticed the clothes in his arms. “Is your sister the vandalizing sort of criminal or the murder type of criminal? Because despite what your people probably think of my people, I’m not big on blood, especially on clothes.”

“More the insubordinate, running-off kind,” Bellamy said, with the air of someone who knew just how insubordinate she could be.

“What, she not like her parents or did they not like her?” Clair asked, taking the clothes and looking through them.

“She doesn’t have parents to hate; just me.”

Clair froze at his words and the bitter, hollow tone they carried. She kept her eyes carefully on the clothes in her hands, wishing she could think of something to say better than, “Oh.”

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” Bellamy said gruffly, like he’d been through this whole situation too many times to count—which, he probably had. “Neither of our dads were ever in the picture, and Mom died when she was just a baby. Nothing you can say will hurt.”

“Actually, I was going to think of something sad about my family to say to distract you,” she said, looking up cautiously, “but you seem to know most of it already.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and she sensed...something. Like he was looking at her for the first time. Then he cleared his throat and the moment was done. “You’ll need to see if those fit, and I’m assuming you don’t want to that right here, so go around back.”

“Wait, only one outfit?” she asked, confused. “This isn’t exactly going to be a day trip.”

“That’s all we can spare to take without anyone noticing,” he said; then, when she still didn’t move, “We’ll get you more clothes later, but this is all you’ll need for now and we have to get moving, so just _go_ , please.” He pushed her lightly away from him for emphasis.

She huffed and stalked off to change, muttering a few choice phrases, but when she glanced back, Bellamy was staring at the building the way she’d looked at the forest, like he’d lost something, and she couldn’t hold onto her annoyance.

The clothes fit, technically, though they weren’t the right shape for her and clung to her curves in a couple of odd places, but they’d have to do. She went back to Bellamy, who checked her over and said it’d be fine, and they waited back at the edge of town until Miller and Lincoln arrived.

“It was harder than expected, finding something that fit him,” Miller explained, referring to the mismatched, ill-fitting clothing they’d found for her brother, including an oversized beanie to hide his head tattoos.

Lincoln just sulked, and Clair had to work hard not to laugh.

“Well, what now?” Clair asked, looking at the strange quartet they made—the mystery, the con man, the brother, and the princess. It would be a miracle for them to make it to the capital, but that didn’t stop a tiny part of her from swelling with excitement.

(She realized a moment later she’d referred to herself as princess and promptly decided to never reveal that to Bellamy.)

“We have plenty of food and supplies packed away already, so we’re basically ready to go,” Miller said.

Lincoln looked at the darkening sky with a frown. “Except it’s too late to do anything right now, I’d wager.”

“Yeah, night travel is dangerous,” Bellamy agreed. “We’ll have to go back to the hideout to sleep and start out in the morning.”

“This adventure is starting to look more like an errands list,” Clair grumbled, but followed him just the same.

The hideout was interesting, but small, and Bellamy and Miller insisted they all stay in one room—supposedly to ward off attacks better, but Clair knew they really just wanted to keep them from running off, which was silly. She was the one who had agreed to find her mom; she wasn’t about to back out now.

Bellamy and Miller had their own beds, though they were crude; there were no spare beds, however, and Clair was looking around for something to sleep on when she heard a familiarly snarky voice say, “Not used to sleeping on the floor, Princess?”

“I lived in forest clan, not some castle,” she shot back, not giving Bellamy the satisfaction of looking up. “Are there blankets or am I just cuddling with your books?”

“Here,” Miller said; she glanced up and saw his armload of blankets and pillows. “Bellamy’s right about the floor, though; we don’t have many guests.”

Clair took them from his arms and laid them out on the floor, side by side. It reminded her a little of how Lincoln would sleep beside her when she was small, tucking her face into his chest because it was the only way she could sleep without nightmares. Of course, when she got older she refused such a childish set-up, nightmares or no, but it still made her sort of nostalgic to think about him patting down her hair and calming her down with his words until she fell asleep.

And something else, too. A different kind of nostalgia; homesickness for something she didn’t remember. It made her dizzy.

“Whoa, easy there,” Miller said, catching her as she swayed. “That walking must’ve really gotten to you, huh? Just lie down and get some rest. We’ve got a long day tomorrow and you probably don’t want to pass out in the middle of nowhere.”

She nodded and slowly went to her knees when she saw Bellamy moving towards the front. “Hey, where are you going?”

Miller grunted in agreement, crossing his arms across his chest. “Getting a midnight snack or something?”

“I’m sleeping in the front room,” said Bellamy. “So if anyone comes in, they’ll just see me. And yes, that means the princess or Lincoln can have one of the beds, if they’re so inclined.”

“They won’t look on further?” Clair asked skeptically.

“If they recognize me, and they will, they’ll expect me to be alone,” Bellamy muttered darkly, turning to go.

“Said like someone who’s done it before,” Clair called after him, feeling a strange urge to pull something out of him, force this sarcastic, closed-off man to say something _real_.

“Get some sleep, Princess,” Bellamy said without turning, and shut the door between them.

Lincoln didn’t seem to mind the situation as much as Clair expected, simply laying out on one pile of blankets and pulling the others on top of him, tipping his head to indicate she take the bed. She did, hesitantly, already thinking about the teasing she would get from Bellamy in the morning but not entirely minding.

As she slipped under the covers, Clair noticed Miller standing by the door, fuming. “That idiot Bellamy Blake. He knows between the two of us it’s better if I get caught, and if he didn’t have such a thick skull he’d see that. He’s going to blow his cover. And I don’t care if you can hear me, by the way!” he added, louder.

“If you’re so worried about him getting caught,” Clair said, bored, “why not just switch with him?”

Miller looked over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow. “Even you should’ve realized by now how stubborn Bellamy is. He’d sooner have his hands cut off than admit he was wrong about something, especially when it puts a friend in danger.”

“What would happen to you if you got caught? Is it really so bad to be in an abandoned building?”

“If we were some random people off the street? No, not really. Maybe some community work, a little jail time at most, just to give us a lesson,” he said. “Problem is, I came from that juvie center he took you to for clothes. Being out in the community past eighteen is our second chance, so getting caught doing any infraction means a long time in jail.”

Clair pursed her lips, unsure if she should continue but too curious to stop. “What about him?”

Miller scowled. “Let’s just say it’d be worse for him to get caught here than both you and your brother combined.”

She opened her mouth again, wanting to ask why, but it was clear from Miller’s clipped tone he was done speaking. He went to his own bed – though not before kicking the door and cursing at Bellamy through it – and burrowed under the sheets.

“If there’s one thing Bellamy’s right about,” he said, just as Clair was about to drift off, “it’s to get some sleep. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, long day tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know how it's doing yeah? :)
> 
> ~@sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr, feel free to come hang out or yell at me or whatever you want~


	6. Strangers Starting Out on a Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a little light when they left, but not much—only enough for Bellamy and Miller, who seemed used to working under cover of darkness, to lead the way. She had a little more trouble adjusting and kept to the middle, Lincoln right on her back.
> 
> “We should be able to avoid any early-risers if we stick to the back alleys,” Miller murmured to Bellamy. “Just as long as we—”
> 
> “Is someone there?” The unfamiliar voice rang out from much too close and Bellamy cursed under his breath, backing them further into the shadows.  
> \--  
> the journey starts with some...complications

Clair was woken roughly by a large hand on her shoulder and an accompanying voice saying, “Rise and shine, Princess. We need to leave.”

            “Hey, leave her be, it’s barely dawn,” another voice – Lincoln’s – protested.

            “Yes, and that’s the time we needed to be leaving. Any earlier and people will be out and about, which will make it much harder for a group of four people to get out of town without being seen. So come on, get up.” He pushed at her shoulder one more time and she finally relented, opening her eyes blearily.

            It took her a moment to reprocess where she was and what was going on, and when she did she was still not sure it had happened. Was she really doing this? Running away from her clan, tagging along with some strangers to find a long-lost parent that might not even be hers? She’d never been far from home before, and surely Anya would look for them eventually.

            Then she thought of the forest, the images pressing in the back of her head without shape, and she got out of bed.

            Bellamy smirked at her as she patted down her hair awkwardly, realizing it was going to be a tangled mess without a brush or way to pull it back. She gave him a quick glare, forcing her eyes not to linger on his uncomfortably good-looking bedhead – it couldn’t be fair to be that attractive all the time and be a jerk – and made up the bed as best she could. If anyone came looking, the least they could do was make it look like no one had been there for a while.

            Miller gave her a nod of approval as he finished his own bed and grabbed four large backpacks from the back corner, passing one to each traveler. “This should have enough food and supplies to last us for a while, and if that doesn’t work I assume you can hunt?” He inclined his eyes to Lincoln.

            He nodded. “Except I doubt I can bring my bow along for fear of being noticed, which would only leave me with my knives.”

            “Can you still do it, if needed?” Bellamy asked, seeming distracted by whatever he was checking in his own backpack.

            “Yes, and Clair can too if you give her something. She’s better than I am.”

            Clair couldn’t help but lift a little at his remark, and Bellamy side-eyed her. “The Princess can hunt, huh? Then I guess you’ll need one of these.” He held out a large knife, hilt out, and she took it carefully.

There was nowhere good to put it on the clothes Bellamy had given her – they were simple and strategically useless – so she went to the pile of her old clothes, which they would dump once they were further from the town. She uncoiled the small weapons belt to retie it around her, tucking the knife into one of the sheaths.

            She noticed Bellamy eyeing her. “What?”

            He blinked, seeming almost embarrassed. “Sorry, I just noticed the gun holster. I forget your people use those now.” He paused, then reached at his side and pulled out a pistol from his waistband. “Think you’ll need one of these, too?”

            Clair considered for a moment, but realized that appeared to be his only weapon and shook his head. “I’ll only need the knife.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Good to know the Princess has some confidence in her abilities.”

            “Oh, shut up,” she said, piling the rest of the clothes into her arms. “You said we needed to hurry, right? So let’s hurry.”

            There was a little light when they left, but not much—only enough for Bellamy and Miller, who seemed used to working under cover of darkness, to lead the way. She had a little more trouble adjusting and kept to the middle, Lincoln right on her back.

            “We should be able to avoid any early-risers if we stick to the back alleys,” Miller murmured to Bellamy. “Just as long as we—”

            “Is someone there?” The unfamiliar voice rang out from much too close and Bellamy cursed under his breath, backing them further into the shadows.

            “I know I heard something, so if you’re looking for trouble, just come out now.” There was a distinct edge to the voice, a promise that _trouble_ would be more than some choice words.

            “You three, head that way and out,” Bellamy whispered urgently. “Miller, you know the way. I’ll handle this guy.”

            Clair thought of what Miller had said the night before, about how bad to would be for Bellamy if he got caught. “No, I’ll do it.”

            “ _What?_ ” the three of them hissed simultaneously; she quieted them urgently.

            “You two will get recognized and dragged away,” she argued, pointing at him and Miller while trying to ignore the sound of a door slamming closed and footsteps. She lowered her voice. “And Lincoln doesn’t look much like Skaikru still, so I’m the only option. I’ll just talk the guy down and find my way out.”

            “Come out now!” cried the voice, louder now. She heard the click of a gun and felt her stomach lurch.

            “Go!” she urged, throwing Lincoln her pack and batting them away with her hands, then turned and stepped away, into the light.

            “Okay, okay, don’t do anything,” she said, arms raised in a show of surrender. “I don’t mean any harm.”

            The figure stepped forward; he was thinly built with narrow eyes and a crooked snarl. He had a pistol in his hands, though at least it was pointed at the ground instead of her. “What are you doing on my property? I own this whole area, you know, not just the house. Being in those alleyways around it is trespassing.”

            “Sorry, sir, I didn’t realize,” Clair said, holding up her hands defensively. “My family’s visiting for a few days and I wanted to catch a sunrise, see if it’s any different here.”

            The man snorted. “There’s no difference in sunrises, you idiot. But at least it explains why you don’t seem to know who I am or where property lines are.”

            Clair swallowed, relieved he was already seeing her as just an ignorant teenager. “You’re...well-known, then?”

            “I’m Commander Shumway, head of the scouts, of course I’m well-known.” He paused, looked her over skeptically; she shifted so the knife sheath wasn’t noticeable. “Be warned that if I see you around again, I’ll send you straight to the juvenile center, visitor or not, Miss....”

            He trailed off, clearly wanting her to fill in the blank, and Clair balked. She didn’t know if her name was passable in Skaikru, and she didn’t want to find out testing it against a irritable scout master with a gun. “It’s...Clarke, Mr. Shumway.”

            “Got a last name with that, Clarke? If I see your parents around either I want to give them a piece of my mind, too.”

            Clair scrambled for a last name she knew and remembered what Miller had called Bellamy when he was yelling at him earlier. “Blake. The name’s Clarke Blake.”

            Shumway froze. “Blake? As in Bellamy Blake?”

            There was something about his tone that made Clair’s hair stand on end. This had to be one of the guys Bellamy had gotten on the bad side of. She went for a confused tone. “Who?”

            “Bellamy Blake,” he repeated, slower, like she was two years old. “The wanted criminal.”

            “Criminal? Well, there are none of those in my family, sir. Just my mom and my dad and me. We live a long way up north, near the mountains, you see, and there isn’t much news up there.”

            Shumway stared at her skeptically for a moment, his fingers twitching on his gun. Clair didn’t even dare to breathe. “Then get out of here,” he grunted at last. “Before I change my mind.”

            Not about to reject his offer, Clair turned and ran the opposite direction, weaving in and out of houses with only minimal care of how loud she was being until, after a few bad turns, she saw the edge of town and the three figures waiting half-hidden in the tree line.

            “What happened? Are you okay?” Lincoln demanded, looking over her anxiously.

            “I’m fine, Lincoln,” she promised, batting his nervous hands away from her face. “Nothing happened; the guy just asked me what I was doing and I told a bunch of lies until he let me go.”

            “Who was the guy, anyway?” Miller asked. “He sounded familiar.”

            Clair tried very hard to not look at Bellamy, but her eyes flitted over to him anyway. “Said his name was Commander Shumway.”

            Sure enough, Bellamy froze, muscles tightening until the veins bulged in his neck. Surprisingly, though, he stayed silent.

            “Shumway? _Commander Shumway?_ ” Miller hissed. “You’re sure?” Clair nodded, and he whistled. “Well, then congrats on getting out of that one unscathed. Not everyone who goes his way is that lucky.”

            Bellamy cleared his throat loudly and flexed his hands and if trying to force feeling back into them. He wouldn’t look at her. “If you’re alright, we should head out. Before someone else gets interested in you.”

            The next town was only about an hour’s walk, but it felt like much longer to Clair; winter would be setting in soon, and her clothes weren’t designed for frigid temperatures. She thought of the thick shirt and armor they’d dumped some miles back longingly, but said nothing to the others. Besides the scouting jacket Bellamy wore, none of them had good clothes for these temperatures.

            _Scouting jacket._

            Clair nearly stopped dead in her tracks. How had she not noticed before? Bellamy was a scout, or had been at least. He must’ve known Shumway; maybe that was even the link to the past he refused to share. Her veins buzzed with newfound curiosity, and she slowed her step casually to fall in line with Miller.

            “Can I ask you a question?” she asked, low enough for the others to not overhear.

            Miller raised an eyebrow, probably sensing this wasn’t going to be a question he’d enjoy, but nodded.

            “What happened between Bellamy and that Shumway guy?”

            He winced a little, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s my call.”

            “Come on, Miller, I nearly got shot giving you guys time to get out,” she pleaded, though that wasn’t quite true. “I just want to know why he flinched at the mention of that guy’s name like _he_ was about to get shot.”

            “Well....” Miller glanced Bellamy up ahead; he walked stiffly. “It’s really not my place, Clair. Sorry.” She sighed in defeat and went to move forward, but he grabbed her arm. “Don’t ask him about it, okay? If he wants to talk about it, he will, but it’s a sensitive subject for him. You’ve probably pieced together that Bellamy was under Shumway at some point, but that’s the tip of a very painful iceberg.”

            “But—” Clair started, then dropped her head. “Yeah, okay. No questions from me.”

            “Thanks, Clair. Now keep moving.”

            They managed to make it into town before Clair’s hands could freeze, and Miller left them at a small park while he took Bellamy’s mystery backpack into town to do some trading. Not wanting to attract attention, they just sat on a bench and talked about mindless, fake topics—a brother Bellamy didn’t have, Lincoln’s fieldwork, what Clair was learning in school. It was sort of fun, making up another life for herself, but then she realized she was almost doing that already and grew quieter.

            “Hey, Princess, not a one-way conversation here,” Bellamy said, nudging her.

            She blinked at the lack of malice in his tone. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “What were you talking about again? Your girlfriend, or your mom? The descriptions blur together.”

            He snorted. “My _uncle_ , actually. He works in a factory, remember? Said he’d seen crazy things in the mountains? If you paid attention, maybe you’d—” He cut off abruptly, staring at something just past Clair’s shoulder.

            “What is it?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

            His hand went to his side, where Clair knew his gun rested under his jacket, then his eyes widened and he shouted, “Get down!”

            Lincoln rolled off the bench before he even finished speaking, but it was an unnecessary command for Clair because Bellamy pushed her off the bench himself, landing flat on top of her as a bullet whizzed over their heads.

            “A friend of yours?” she managed to say, struggling to form coherent thoughts between the pain of the backpack digging into her spine and the obvious weight of Bellamy on top of her.

            “Get under the bench, Princess, and stay down,” he replied gruffly, pushing her away from him a little before rolling off and scrambling for better cover. She winced as the next gunshot ripped through the air, spurring screams of passerby and a flinch from Bellamy, but he didn’t appear to be hit. He kept going until he reached a wide, thick tree and ducked behind it, gun ready.

            Lincoln, meanwhile, was ducked at the side of the bench; it wasn’t much cover but he didn’t seem willing to leave Clair’s side. Which was, of course, idiotic, and she told him so. “You’re going to get shot!”

            “So are you. I’m your brother, blood or not, and I’m going to protect you.”

            “What, by getting shot beside me? No deal,” Clair muttered, rolling out from under the bench before he could stop her. A shot fired and she dropped instinctively; she felt it go by just inches above her. She kept running, hearing shot after shot ping on trees and structures behind her, comforted only by the fact that the park had emptied and they were following her instead of Lincoln, and rolled almost right into Bellamy, who looked like he wanted to kill her himself.

            “I told you to stay there,” he hissed. “I have the gun; you won’t be any help at long-range.”

            She scowled. “Sorry that I’m not the damsel you want me to be, but I was going to get shot anyway under there. The guy has good aim.” She noticed his arm, the red gathering there, and her stomach lurched. “Better than I thought.”

            He saw her looking and shifted, grunting angrily. “You’re the one who has to stay in one piece; otherwise Ab—Mrs. Griffin gets no daughter and Miller and I walk away empty-handed.”

            “Good to know I’m just a reward to you,” she sniped before she could help it.

            A few more bullets whizzed by, splintering the bark by their heads, and Bellamy stuck his head out from behind the tree to deliver a few shots. When the shooter returned fire and he ducked back, he gave her a distinct look. “Didn’t we begin this partnership on that notion?”

            “Yeah, well, it won’t end well on that,” she grunted, “and this battle isn’t going to end well if you keep just hiding and shooting, either. Do you even know who you’re shooting at?”

            “There’s a figure in the trees; can’t make out a face.” Clair went to see and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back fiercely as yet another shot fired. “Geez, Princess, don’t look.”

            She realized he was holding her with his wounded arm and wriggled out of his grip. “Well, I’m not helpful here and pretty soon they’re going to go after Lincoln if he hasn’t moved yet, so we need a better plan.”

            “Yeah? And what do you suggest, Princess?” he scoffed.

            “Don’t give me that. I went on hunts; I know strategy. We need to draw him out so you can get a better shot.”

            “If you say anything along the lines of you as bait, I’ll just knock you out myself,” he warned. “You barely made it across that firing range without getting hit, and now he knows what to expect. Your movements are predictable.”

            “Well,” she said, forcing herself to shake off the sting of his half-insult, “then I’ll just have to be unpredictable.” And before he could grab her again, she ducked from behind the tree and sprinted for the next one. As she expected, shots followed, and instead of diving for cover like she normally would’ve done, she rolled and kept running in an irregular zigzag pattern closer to the shooter and further from Bellamy. A bullet grazed at her leg and she had to bite back a scream, giving in and rolling for a nearby tree.

            Quickly, she looked at her leg; it was bleeding but not badly. She’d been lucky. Breathing in and out to steady herself, she called out in a clear voice, “Miller! Time’s up! You’ve got to do it now!”

            She waited for a few seconds and heard no shots. Holding her breath, she peeked out from the tree and saw a hooded figure maybe a hundred yards away, pointing his gun to the area around him and looking intently for something in the trees. He was probably looking for another cohort, which should’ve comforted her but just made her more nervous instead—the fact he was looking near himself and not towards her or her companions meant he knew Miller was not one of them.

            Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lincoln barely concealed behind a tree, clearly without weapon or defense but at least out of the open; Bellamy was still behind her, peeking out briefly before hiding again. What was he doing? He had a much better shot now. Was he nervous about missing it?

            _Guess I better give him incentive,_ Clair thought, and jumped out from the tree.

            The shooter caught the movement and shot, but she knew he’d shoot directly at her in his moment of confusion and easily ducked to the side. “Miller!” she screamed, even though it was the other boy she wanted a response from. Still no shot; maybe she was too close. She rolled for the nearest tree, making sure she was at an angle the shooter couldn’t shoot at easily, then popped out again for a moment and let the shooter focus his energy on her.

            Then, right when she thought she had him, the shooter turned his attention away from her.

            Clair threw a glance back and saw Bellamy standing right in the open, gun up. _They’re going to kill him,_ she thought, and her heart stopped. “ _Bellamy!_ No!”

                Two shots fired, almost simultaneously, and she screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i sorry for that cliffhanger? mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
> 
> but i promise i'll try to have the next update out soon, i'm basically done editing it so that's good. in the meantime TELL ME UR THOUGHTS. ADVICE. PREDICTIONS. ANYTHING. SERIOUSLY. IF YOU JUST KEYBOARD SLAM I WILL LOVE YOU
> 
> catch me on tumblr @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx


	7. Remind Me to Thank You (If We Live Through This)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath  
> \--  
> alternate title: the Day Trip chapter

Bellamy dropped to the ground and the bullet sailed over his head; the shooter, on the other hand, let out a wail of pain and crumpled, dead. He let out a sigh of relief that the assailant hadn’t had bulletproof armor on, then felt his stomach do a flip-flop at the realization that he’d shot a man, again.

            Except this time, he hadn’t missed.

            Forcefully, he turned his attention to the others. “You all right?” he called uncertainly to Clair, getting to his feet. He’d heard her scream, but hopefully it was out of fear rather than pain. “Lincoln? You okay, too?”

            “I’m fine,” came Lincoln’s reply. Clair didn’t say anything, but he could see her up ahead, limping towards the dead man in the trees stiffly.

            “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, sprinting to catch up with her. “What are you doing? There could be more of them.”

            “They would’ve come out by now,” she argued, shaking off the hand he put on her shoulder. “I want to make sure he’s dead.”

            “Trust me, that was a fatal shot,” he said, wincing at how calloused he sounded. They stepped over the bushes and peered at the body; sure enough, the man was still and dead-eyed beneath the dark clothing. Bellamy swallowed down bile and knelt beside the body, searching for some sort of identifier. Finding none, he took the gun and handed it to Clair – “Looks like you need one of these after all” – then together they pushed him farther into the bushes, though it probably wouldn’t help with all the noise and ruckus their scene had caused.

            “What did he want? Did he recognize you?” Clair asked urgently.

            Bellamy shook his head. “No, I have no idea who he is. And as for what he wanted....” He went over the scene again in his mind—when he had run, the shooter had only fired once or twice, but when Clair had run the same path, he’d fired his pistol like it was a machine gun. And even with the fake worry of another assailant on his head – he mentally thanked Clair for that one, but also made a note to never tell her that aloud – the man had turned every ounce of his energy on the girl who couldn’t kill him, ignoring the larger man with a gun.

            It didn’t make sense, but he had to face it. The man wanted Clair. _Clair_ , specifically. He had to know who she was. But then why kill her, if he knew how valuable she was alive? His brain was swirling.

            “Bellamy?” Clair asked, poking him in the arm. “What he wanted?”

            He blinked and looked at her, surprised that she’d actually used his name for once, then swallowed. “No idea. Maybe just some extremist who was looking for trouble and ran into us.”

            By the frown Clair had when she turned away, she didn’t believe him, but what else was he supposed to say? The truth? She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

            He winced at that, thinking of all the lies he’d piled up by now on that idea, on the notion of protecting people. Protect Octavia, protect Miller, protect Clair. It was all the same ugly lie, underneath.

             “Come on, we need to go,” Clair said, pulling him out of his thoughts again. “I think people are coming.”

            Bellamy looked and, sure enough, a few people were starting to creep into the park, including a few scouts. He cursed and pulled her away, checking that Lincoln saw them; he made a subtle nod and started out a different direction to avoid attention.

            They met up again where they had first entered the town, making sure to keep a much lower profile than before, and waited until Miller met up with them.

            “What _happened?_ ” he demanded as he came, hands full of new clothes and supplies. “I went to the park and not only was no one there, but there were scouts crawling everywhere and they were hauling off a dead guy from the bushes. I had to dodge thirty different questions about who I was with and what I was doing here.”

            “Long story short, we got shot at and returned fire until we won,” Bellamy said, not wanting to discuss the whole thing right now. “Did you recognize the guy?”

            Miller shook his head shortly. “Total stranger. He didn’t seem to have symbols from any of the clans, either, including Skaikru.”

            “I noticed that, too,” Bellamy said, though he hadn’t actually thought about it until now. “Maybe a dissenter? A scavenger?”

            “Who was planning what? To kill and eat us? Not likely,” Lincoln cut in as he took the clothes from Miller’s arms and sifted through them for anything that would fit him. “I’ve seen plenty of scavengers—Trikova, we call them in the forest clan. The shadows. They keep to themselves; don’t like trouble.”

            “Yeah, well, this one did,” Clair said, “and he was well-trained, too, which I haven’t seen from any low-lives I’ve come across. Speaking of which, he grazed my leg and got Bellamy full in the arm. We’re going to need some sort of medical attention.”

            Miller bit his lip worriedly and sucked in a breath. “I don’t know how we’re going to, especially after this development. Sticking our faces in public is going to be equivalent to a target now, I’m thinking.”

            “Then we don’t show our faces,” Bellamy said, standing straighter. “We only go into towns when needed, and when we do we lay low and do all we can to conceal our real features.”

            They all nodded solemnly in agreement; this had become less of an adventure mission and more of a survival one. No one could turn back or be killed, and they also couldn’t remain here without getting attacked. It was either reach the capital or nothing. No other option.

            The once-distant shouts of passerby grew louder – Bellamy caught the words _remain_ and _identification_ – and they all stiffened.

            Lincoln voiced everyone’s thoughts. “We need to move.”

            They didn’t run, for fear of drawing attention to themselves; instead, they walked leisurely, casually, as if they were just another pack of travelers wanting to get away from the chaos of the town but not overly concerned with what had happened, either.

            It made Bellamy’s skin crawl.

            Fighting he could handle; he’d gotten bruised and beaten plenty of times, he wasn’t scared of getting hit. He was _trained_ to fight, to never back down, and it was his nature anyway, to never let the enemy see him on his knees. So hiding in plain sight, like cowards, like they were afraid – even if they should’ve been – was almost as difficult as killing that man. He felt like he was killing part of himself.

            Swallowing hard, Bellamy adjusted the coat he’d put over his guard jacket, trying to better hide the lump of his gun, and focused on matching strides with Clair directly ahead of him. She was a mystery, too, this girl—all pretention and recklessness and the kind of curiosity that got you killed. But she was also clever, and had taken the story of his family without pity or scorn, even thought of something good to say in response. And despite the stupidity of her plan in the park, it had _worked_.

            Honestly, she reminded him a lot of his sister, though slightly more mature and a little prettier, too. (Not that he was going to admit that.)

            Once they’d gone far enough to have no people in sight – though they’d thought the same thing in the park right before they’d gotten shot, Bellamy thought bitterly – they set up camp beneath a rock overhang. He’d hoped to go a shorter route directly to another town, but they’d gone so far trying to get away from the chaos the sun was close to disappearing again, so they’d have to make up the lost miles later, when things had died down.

            If things died down.

            Bellamy watched quietly as Miller helped Clair pull the bedrolls out of her pack and lay them out, side by side, then rummage for a little bit of food for everyone. There hadn’t been much for trade, and clothes seemed more needed since they had almost none of those versus several backpacks full of food, so they were rationing it out, just in case. It was difficult not to swallow the apple and jerky he was given in one bite, but he knew from experience he’d regret it later, so he ate carefully, savoring each bite.

            Clair did not seem to have this thought process; her ration was gone almost as soon as it was in her hands. When she caught him looking, she snapped defensively, “What? I haven’t eaten since before you and I first met.”

            He raised his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t judging, Princess.” Then he groaned in pain at the movement; his arm still burned from the bullet something awful, like if screams could be transferred to feeling. There was nothing to be done now, though; he’d given Lincoln the only bandages they’d brought to wrap up Clair’s leg, since she would be on it so much, and they couldn’t risk going to a doctor.

            She frowned at him. “We really need to get that bandaged up. I know a little bit of medicine, I could at least see how bad it is.”

            Bellamy started to do what he did best – argue – but Lincoln cut him off sharply. “My sister’s right. It couldn’t hurt to look; in fact, it could help a great deal. She’s good with those things.”

            “Says you,” Bellamy grumbled, but he was quickly outvoted and soon enough he was peeling off his coat and then his jacket, carefully, exposing his bare arms to the frigid evening air. Mercifully, it hadn’t hit any of the major veins, but it was still in there—which was cool, in a distant way, but in a more real way it was very _not cool_.

            Clair looked over his arm with a surprising level of calmness and precision. She affirmed it hadn’t hit any bone or veins which would have caused major bleeding – “though we would’ve known that long before, since you’d be bleeding out back in town” she informed him dryly – and determined they needed to just leave the bullet in there, wrap it up, and keep him from using it as much as possible.

            “Don’t know if you realize this, Princess,” he told her as she sawed off part of Lincoln’s sleeve with her knife, “but I won’t exactly be able to avoid using this thing. We’re going to Camp Griffin, remember? Lots of walking if we’re lucky, lots of running and dodging if we’re not?”

            She rolled her eyes and began wrapping the fabric around his wound tightly. For how cold it was around them, her hands were warm. “Yes, I did realize that, but it doesn’t change the fact there could be consequences for being stupid—or continuing to be stupid, in your case. No using it unnecessarily, which includes the gun.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Hand it over.”

            Bellamy’s good hand went to his side instinctively, where the pistol was tucked in his waistband as it always was. That thing was his security blanket; he slept with it, literally. Though as a scout that was kind of a given, but whatever. He still didn’t like to part with it. “No way.”

            “Come on, man, you know you’ll be tempted,” Miller cut in from his right. “Besides, if you’re worried about her losing it or shooting irresponsibly, you’ll be right there. It’s not like you can’t keep an eye on her.”

            Scowling at Miller for taking Clair’s side over his, Bellamy drew the pistol out and handed it to Clair handle first, having to force himself to let go when she curled her fingers around it. She tucked it into her second holster beside the gun he’d given her earlier – he hated that it fit, then hated himself for being so petty and childish – and gave him a smug grin. “There, wasn’t so bad, was it? Maybe you’ll stop sucking your thumb next.”

            “You know, your jokes just get funnier and funnier,” Bellamy told her as she went to get into a bedroll. “I hope you run out soon.”

            She only laughed. (He tried to ignore that he didn’t mind it so much.)

            Sleeping that night was terribly awkward trying to keep all pressure off his arm, and he didn’t get much of it, so come morning he couldn’t really be blamed if he got up a little later than usual. The others were already getting ready to head out by the time he was dressed—or Lincoln was, anyway. Clair and Miller were doing what appeared to be a weird version of that Simon Says game he used to play with Octavia.

            “What is _that?_ ” he demanded, putting on his jacket as carefully as possible.

            Miller looked at him curiously. “What is what?”

            Bellamy imitated the hand gesture Miller had just shown Clair. “That.”

            “Oh. Well, I have to start teaching her how to act when we get to the capital sometime, right? She’s got too much grounder upbringing; it’ll throw off Chancellor Griffin.” He turned away from Bellamy, clearly done with the conversation, and said, “All right, now recite back the best way to introduce yourself.”

            Clair said in a flat voice, “Hi, my name is Clarke and I believe I am your daughter. We were lost at the same age and I don’t know my family. I think it could be yours.”

            Miller sighed. “Okay, the words are fine, but maybe put some feeling into it? You know, like you’re meeting your long-lost mother instead of memorizing useless facts for a school test?”

            “I don’t see why this is so necessary,” Clair argued. “I know my background; I know who I am. Either I’m her daughter or I’m not. What’s the point of dressing up as someone I’m not?”

            “That’s exactly what you agreed to a day ago,” Bellamy pointed out.

            “Yeah, but a day ago this was supposed to be a week-long trip at the longest with no hiccups that ended fine either way,” she retorted, her voice getting louder and louder with each word. “Now it’s us all running for our lives away from people want to either imprison or kill us—and we don’t even know if there are any other shooters besides the one we just shot dead yesterday afternoon!”

By the end it was nearly a scream, and Bellamy nearly took a step back from the intensity of it. There was a long, awkward beat of silence as Clair looked over their expressions and slowed her breathing, then she spoke again, much softer now. “I just...if I’m going to do this now, it has to mean something. There’s no turning back, so I know there’s not really a choice, but if I have to go all this way I want to just be myself, okay? Thanks for the help anyway, Miller.”

            She turned and walked away without another word, and it was almost a full minute before it occurred to any of the others that she was walking away into wilderness after nearly getting killed less than a day ago. “I’ll go get her,” Lincoln said, starting forward, but Bellamy caught at his arm, holding him back.

“She might just want to be alone, Lincoln,” he warned him. Brothers didn’t often see anything past the desire to protect their siblings; he of all people had learned that lesson.

            “Maybe,” Lincoln allowed, “but knowing Clair, she’ll get into trouble wandering off on her own.”

            “That’s how she got into this situation, coincidentally,” Bellamy mused, then paused. “You know what? I’ll go get her. Maybe she’ll be so annoyed to see me following her she’ll come back just to get away from me.”

            “Or she’ll run off farther,” Lincoln added, but by then Bellamy had already started out in the direction Clair had headed.

            He found her quickly, not far away from camp, sitting against a tree with her knees curled up to her chest. She was reckless, but not stupid. “Hey,” he said, which was maybe the best beginning to a conversation he’d had with her so far.

            “Go away,” she grumbled, effectively ruining the streak.

            “What, I’m not allowed to see how you’re doing?” he asked, only half joking.

            “Not if you don’t really care,” she said into her knees, and even though Bellamy knew she wasn’t really snapping at him like she usually was, she was just frustrated and scared and far away from any sense of home or safety, it still stung.

            “Well, if that’s all you’re going to believe, then just come back when you’re not so mopey, and before anything else comes for you,” he quipped, turning to go, then reconsidered. He was being as unreasonable as she was. “Sorry.”

            She blinked and lifted her head, watching him carefully but saying nothing. He paused for a moment, unsure what that was cueing him to do, before deciding if he was going to walk out here, he might as well sit down. So he did, leaning against the tree beside her without a word, in case his voice annoyed her further.

            “I keep looking at the trees and seeing the park again,” she admitted after some time of silence. “I hear the shots, the bark ripping, a scream. The pain in my leg. All of it.”

            “Must be hard here then, huh?” Bellamy said, looking ahead.

            She nodded out of the corner of his eye. “At least no one’s shooting at us right now. It’s more...peaceful. Except that just makes me worried someone’s coming for us all over again.” He could feel her eyes on his. “Is that stupid? I mean, am I wrong for thinking this much about it? I’ve been on missions before, I’ve fought with swords in battles since I was little. I should be numb to it all, shouldn’t I?”

            “You’re never numb to it,” Bellamy replied, leaning his head back against the tree and closing his eyes against years of images waiting to rise up again. He looked sideways at her. “And you’re not stupid. There’s a difference between things like scouting missions and fighting as a kid – even your version – and what we just did yesterday. Then, you had no one on the edges ready to stop it if it became too much, no one telling you what to do or how to win. That was real.”

            “I hated it,” she whispered.

            “Everyone hates it, if they have any sense.”

            “Did you hate it?”

            He nodded, not wanting to say more in case a flood of words came, so fast and overwhelming he wouldn’t be able to stop it, and everything would come out—Octavia, and Shumway, and the years of torture and loneliness he was still trying to get over, and the fear of being found out, and the need to cover it all up every second of every day no matter how hard it got because someone he cared about always needed something first. It terrified him, this feeling, and the fact Clair could nearly tease it out of him. No one had ever done that before.

            “The hardest thing, I think,” Clair continued, mercifully pulling Bellamy from his thoughts, “is that through all of this, I feel like I’ve done it all before. The running, the hiding, the fear of someone chasing me even though I know there must be no one there.”

            Bellamy froze, looking at her more carefully. She couldn’t mean.... “Anything specific?”

            She shook her head. “No. It’s like in that forest; no real memory, nothing I can’t catch, just...feelings. Flashes. Like my body knows more than my mind does.” There was a pause. “When you were telling Lincoln the story of Clarke Griffin, you said there was an attack. That some boy saved her from the...the grounders, took her into the forest, before she wandered off. What....” She trailed off, either unsure of what she wanted to say or if she wanted to say it.

            He could tell her. He could tell her who he was, really— _I’m that boy. I’m the one who took her, that girl who could really, actually be you, into the forest. I’m the one who saved you._ But then he thought of the words that had to inevitably follow – _I’m the one who lost you_ –  and his stomach plummeted.

            So instead he just said, “We should be getting back soon. If you’re ready.”

            Clair nodded, swallowing a little, and stood as he did. She seemed calmer than before, but still not quite settled. “Yeah.” Then, quieter: “Thanks. For talking to me.”

            Had she ever thanked him for anything? He was pretty sure she hadn’t, but he hadn’t either, and suddenly that seemed sort of unfair. It wasn’t her fault he was stubborn and stupid. “Thanks, too,” he said at last, because there were several things he could thank her for and he had just enough pride to not want to list all of them.

            Miller and Lincoln were all packed up and waiting impatiently when they came back. “What took so long? Are you okay?” Lincoln asked, pulling Clair – Clarke – whoever – towards him searchingly.

            “I was gone for five minutes, calm down. It’s not like Bellamy came to set me on fire or anything.” She glanced quickly at Bellamy, then away; he held her gaze for a second too long, distracted. There was something in her eyes. Words she hadn’t told him. Memories she wouldn’t share.

            He was curious about her, and that almost scared him most.


	8. Dark Forces Stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group tries to move away from the last fight, a new problem occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u believe i'm updating what a Concept^TM

They moved quickly that day, both from increased determination and fear. Miller had taken over the front position because Bellamy no longer had a gun (which he was still sulking about), which left him sandwiched between the two siblings.

            “What’s the goal for today?” Lincoln asked. “In terms of stopping point, I mean. I’m sure you were planning on staying in a town originally, but under the circumstances that might not be the best idea.”

            “We’ll go as far as we can and figure out the plan for crossing the border in the morning,” Bellamy said.

            “The border?” asked Clair. “I thought we weren’t going out of Skaikru territory.”

            “We aren’t,” confirmed Miller from up ahead. “But the capital is like a territory all its own; you need a special permit to get inside and a good reason, too.”

            “Which we...have?” Clair asked doubtfully.

            “Almost,” Bellamy hedged. In fact, he had secured three tickets months and months before, but that was before he’d screwed up everything and voided them with the name on his back, and before they were aware a fourth member would be coming.

            “Almost sounds a lot like ‘no but I’d rather not tell you that right now’ to me,” Clair mused. “Funny.”

            “It won’t be funny when we’re at the gates and get shut out—or worse. We need a plan,” Lincoln said.

            “Which we will make, tomorrow,” Bellamy insisted, “but for now we just need to keep moving. Distance will be the best way to avoid the incident for now.”

            Everyone quieted after that—except, of course, for Clair, who slowed her step to walk beside him. “The incident? You don’t have to talk in code; no one here is going to betray anyone else.”

            “True, but that doesn’t mean someone’s not listening in some way or another. Word travels fast, and scouts move faster. I’d like to get you to Abby with everyone in one piece.”

            She frowned. “Abby?”

            “Chancellor Griffin,” he amended. “Your mother, if we’re right about all this.”

            “Ah,” she said, seeming uncomfortable. “If.”

            “Look, for what it’s worth, I think you are,” he told her, surprised at the truth of his words—but not at the ramming guilt in his stomach, because she believed he’d thought that since the beginning. It was too easy to forget he’d been using her this whole time.

            The tentative smile she gave him seemed to ease it a little, though, so he let the feeling subside for now.

            They stuck to the trees, deciding it would be better to be more on watch for hidden attacks than without cover. The pace was fast but controlled, which was probably best—Clarke was still limping a bit, and he didn’t want to push her and make it worse.

            Speaking of injuries, his arm was still burning something awful, though the wrapping had eased the bleeding—which probably made his current position in the middle logical, but that didn’t stop him from missing his gun. He hadn’t gone to scout training for half his life to simply not feel the lack of weight in his holster, the drumming knowledge that he was virtually defenseless if something were to—

            “Cover!” Miller yelled, voice full of warning and fear. Several shots fired, from both nearby and farther away, and he rolled to the side.

            “Speak of the devil,” he muttered to himself as Lincoln ducked for cover beside him. With a quick glance, he saw Clarke and Miller were both safe for the moment as well, both guns trained behind them.

            Bellamy swerved his gaze and saw the attacker to be a woman, similarly clothed and marked to the man before, with tangled dark hair and an odd decoration of scars on her face.

            More importantly, however, he saw the gun pointed straight at his friends.

            Instinctively, he reached for his gun, and when he remembered it wasn’t there, he started forwards, hoping to maybe distract the shooter, but Lincoln yanked him back before he’d gotten half a step.

            “Haven’t you learned not to bring fists to a gunfight?” Lincoln hissed.

            “Actually, the term is knife to a gunfight—”

            “Not to mention,” Lincoln interrupted forcibly, shoving both of them behind a tree, “you’re still wounded and can’t risk further injury.”

            Bellamy scowled at him, but knew he was right. This one wasn’t his fight.

            Still, it sort of sucked to watch all the action stuck on the sidelines, useless for anything except viewing as the others expertly dodged and returned fire.

            As before, they were twice as determined to get a shot on Clair as anyone else, but this time she was ready for them, avoiding bullets almost casually as if to say,  _That’s all you’ve got?_

            Bellamy couldn’t help but grin a little at the sight. That was what they got for messing with the princess.

            As Clair kept the shooter’s gaze on her, Miller and Lincoln slowly made their way forwards, nearly unseen but still not in a good position for a shot. Bellamy itched with anticipation, wanting to help somehow, when something that wasn’t Clair moved out of the corner of his eye.

            Before he even saw what it was, he found himself shouting, “Clair, get down!”

            She dropped half a second later, and in the next moment a figure was leaping from the shadows towards her. Bellamy was running before he even thought about it, Lincoln not quite able to catch his arm, only half aware of the lack of gunshots in his ears.

            Clair and the assailant – a lean, muscular man who towered over her – were already scrabbling on the ground by the time he got there, but thankfully he could see no weapons or injuries yet. He plowed into the man, trying to knock him off Clair, but only succeeded in knocking all three of them onto their sides.

            For a moment he fumbled to grab the man’s arm, his face, something, just pull him away from Clair, but then a familiar scream of pain tore through his ears and suddenly the man was rolling away from her and coming after Bellamy.

            Bellamy was frozen for a moment, uselessly replaying the scream in his head,  _Clair’s_ scream, and overtly aware of the pain in his arm and the tiredness seeping through his body, so it was honestly through pure luck that he managed to roll away before the first swing could hit. He pushed himself up, preparing himself for the next one, but it never came—Miller got there first.

            The man wailed in pain as the bullet entered his shoulder, crumpling sideways and giving Bellamy time to get to his feet.

            “Keep him there,” he said, and when Miller nodded he moved to Clair.

            She was breathing, which made him nearly ache in relief, but she was curled on the ground with her hands at her neck and mouth open in silent, unrestrained agony. “Clair,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside her, hands fluttering around her body uncertainly. “Clair, can you hear me?”

            “ _Get it off,_ ” she hissed through clenched teeth, practically clawing at her neck now.

            “Okay, okay, just move your hands,” he said, trying to remain calm. She did, with what appeared to be a severe effort, and he gently rolled her to the side to look at her neck, expecting a bad gash or maybe even a dart of some kind.

            It was not that.

            Instead, Bellamy found himself staring at some sort of...chip, mostly clear with an infinity symbol on it, attached to Clair’s neck. From the blood around the area, and the way Clair’s entire body was clenched in pain, he guessed it had some sort of barb that had pierced the skin. He winced.

            “I’m going to try to pull it out, just don’t move,” he told her, aware of Miller and now Lincoln behind him, keeping the newer attacker from trying anything. Hands shaking slightly, he grasped the chip between two fingers, alarmed at how warm it was, and pulled.

            Clair cried out, louder than before, and he pulled his hand away instinctively. The chip hadn’t  _budged_ , not even a little; in fact, it felt as if it had pulled the opposite direction, resisting his efforts.

            Whatever this thing was, Bellamy realized, it wasn’t going to come out easily.

            Hesitantly, he reached for her neck again, and she curled away, mumbling, “Don’t try again.”

            “I’m not,” he said, “just trying to look at it.” He waited until she relaxed a little and nodded before touching the chip as softly as he could, feeling the tiny divots in it, the smooth curves of the infinity sign. It was not a primitive design, that was for sure; this was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The way it gently pulsed heat under his finger, it felt almost... _alive._

            There was little he could do about it now, though, so he focused on Clair. “You okay, outside of the pain?”

            She nodded stiffly. “Feels like the damn thing is poking needle fingers inside my neck, but nothing else seems to be wrong. Am I still bleeding?”

            “Don’t think so.”

            “Okay then.” She paused, biting back what must’ve been a note of pain, then said, “Help me up.”

            Bellamy wasn’t sure how good of an idea that was, but it wasn’t like she could stay on the ground forever, so he obediently pulled her to her feet. She glanced at him quickly, perhaps a silent thank you, then pulled out her gun and walked towards the attacker.

             _Reckless as usual,_  Bellamy thought, and yet he couldn’t fight off a smile as he hurried to catch up.

            Miller and Lincoln both had their guns trained on the man, who was sprawled on his back with blood trickling down his bald head and hands open, revealing he had no weapon. Clair joined in, and since Bellamy didn’t have a gun, he went for a threatening stance instead.

            “The other attacker?” Clair asked tersely.

            Shit, Bellamy had completely forgotten about the other attacker. Thankfully, with a quick glance it was clear they were either knocked out or dead, and Lincoln confirmed the latter.

            Bellamy now turned on the one who stuck a chip in Clair’s head, letting his anger seep into his face and voice. “What do you want?”

            The shooter smiled in a sickening way, the kind that reminded Bellamy of rotted teeth. “Far more than you could ever dream of, Bellamy Blake.”

            Without meaning to, Bellamy froze at the mention of his name, then cursed his mistake as the man laughed in a crusty, horrid way. “Yes, so the data is correct after all. The appearance matched, but your little trick of names caused a moment of confusion for Quintis and I wanted to be sure.”

            “Quintis?” Clair demanded, her voice surprisingly even with the pain she must’ve still been enduring, evident by the tightness in her muscles. She’d been the only one not to flinch when his name was used, so she’d likely already deduced these people knew who they were, or at least their names.  _Smart girl._

            “The one who failed to kill you the first time,” the man said; though he was answering Clair, his eyes never left Bellamy. “When you began calling for someone named  _Miller_ , he began to worry the given names were misplaced.  But I assume now that is simply this fourth member, and he must’ve either hid from the fight or was not present.”

            He smiled crudely again, cocking his head a little. With his thin, long face, pointed nose, and heavy, thick clothing giving him a sort of hunch, the man looked like a vulture. The thought only made Bellamy feel more uneasy.

            “Okay, then who are you?”

            “The man sent to slaughter you all.”

            Bellamy forced himself to keep an even tone. “A name.”

            The man smirked, seeing right through his mask. “Tristan, though you need not know for long.”

            “And who sent you to kill us?” Miller cut in.

            “Someone you cannot kill yourself,” Tristan snarled, gaze still never wavering from Bellamy’s face. “The mighty Wanheda.”

            Bellamy glanced at Clair for explanation and she translated, “It means commander of death.” He couldn’t tell if she’d heard of it before; she sounded equally shaken and confused. “What do they want with us?”

            Finally, Tristan slid his eyes away from Bellamy, turning to Clair with a gaze both cold and predatory; Bellamy clenched his fists against a surge of anger filling up his chest. “Your head.”

            Lincoln actually growled at that, taking half a step closer, and it took everything in Bellamy to hold him back when he wanted to move forward, too.

            “I wouldn’t try it, seeing as you’re defenseless with three guns on you,” Bellamy warned, snarling.

            Tristan glanced at him out of the side of his eye, a look full of cunning, and then suddenly he was pushing off the ground, his hand flying to his waist; Bellamy saw a flash of silver, already too close to avoid—

            A gunshot rang just as Bellamy was pushed to the side, a flash of pain going up his side, and he hit the ground hard with the echo of a scream in his ears.

            It turned out to be Lincoln who pushed him over; he rolled off Bellamy quickly and pulled him to his feet. Miller was all over him a moment later, muttering worriedly and fussing over his side – “a knife, not too deep, you should be fine” – but most of his focus was still on Clair. Clair, with gun still raised, staring emptily at Tristan’s body and the trail of blood pooling around his head.

            He pushed through Miller and Lincoln to go to her, hesitating a moment before resting a hand over hers on the gun. “Clair. You can put the gun down now.”

            She blinked heavily, as if waking from a dream, and looked at him. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” She lowered it slowly, shaking just barely, then swallowed. “He was going to kill you. The rest of us, too, if he could. I didn’t have a choice.”

            Bellamy knew that tone of voice—said as a statement, but meant as a question. A plead, really, to reassure her this action didn’t condemn her.

            He nodded, slowly. “Any of us would’ve done the same.” He paused, realizing his hand was still over hers, and how even though she had a death grip on the gun, her skin felt warm and soft.

            He pulled back, swallowing and trying to clear his head. “Um. If you’re...if you think you can manage it, Clair, we should find some shelter soon. Set up camp.”

            “Yeah, that sounds good,” she said, sounding a little dazed; she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

            “Yeah. Good.”

            Awkwardly, he turned to start walking, but before he got a couple steps she called out, “Clarke.”

            He stopped, thrown for the second time, and turned to face her. “What?”

            “Before, with Miller, I said I didn’t want to do this unless I could be myself. And at that moment, being myself felt like being Clair kom Trikru. But now...after thinking so much about those woods, the memories, the story, all of it...I feel like I’m Clarke. I want to be.”

            Without really thinking about it, Bellamy smiled. “Okay, Clarke.” It surprised him a little, how natural her name sounded coming out of his mouth—how nice. But it also made perfect sense, because he sensed he’d believed in Clarke Griffin longer than he would consciously admit.

            Clarke smiled, somehow soft despite her worn features and the tightness in her neck. “Okay, Bellamy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know if u like where this is going! also in case u can't tell i'm slowly getting further and further from anastasia canon bc i do what i want and i also have no idea what i'm doing XD


	9. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy both have a nightmare, but only one of them is asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that nightmare scene in anastasia? this is that basically
> 
> got some good slowburn blarke shit for you here

After a little discussion, everyone decided it would take too much time and effort to properly get rid of the two bodies, so they simply stripped them of weapons and hid them in a cluster of trees and bushes before continuing on their way.

            With the horrors of the past two days, they probably should’ve found a campsite that was secure and hidden, but they were too tired and weak to care; instead, they dropped their packs as soon as they found a spot with an overhang. Miller pulled out their rations soon after, and though Bellamy’s stomach was still tied up in knots after the events of the day, he obediently ate it anyway, knowing his friend would mother him if he didn’t.

            Clarke looked over his arm, muttering grumpily that he’d used it too much but relenting that they couldn’t do anything about it until they went into a town, and told Lincoln to wrap up his side while she got out bedrolls.

            “You should really be more careful,” Lincoln said as he wiped off the dried blood. “I’ll run out of sleeves for bandages sooner or later, and where will you be then?”

            “Sorry,” Bellamy said, unable to stop his mouth from quirking up a little. “Thank you, though.”

            “For bandaging your wound, or tearing up my borrowed shirts?”

            “For saving my life today. I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there.”

            Lincoln looked at him for a few moments, seeming to ponder something, then simply shrugged. “You’re one of my people now; keeping you alive is certainly not a burden. But you’re welcome.”

            Bellamy blinked. “One of your people?” He’d never really been anyone’s ‘people’ before, except maybe Octavia’s. And Skaikru, technically, though the brutal years of scouting hadn’t made him overly fond of the title.

            “You travel with us, and have already proven you would protect us and want what’s best. That’s enough in my book. Honestly, saving my sister might have been enough for me, and you’ve done that twice already.”

            At that, Bellamy dropped his gaze a little, swallowing. He’d also gotten Lincoln’s sister in this mess in the first place—in  _both_  first places, if you counted when he lost her as a kid.

            Lincoln noticed. “Does that not seem like enough to you?”

            He hesitated. “No, I just...I would’ve thought you would think my actions to be selfish, when it came to your sister.”

            For some unfathomable reason, Lincoln smiled at that. “I did think that at first, but I know better now. A selfish man would not treat her as you have; trust me, I know. She’s not a prize to you. You want her safe just as you want Miller safe, or I, or a family member.”

            Bellamy opened his mouth to argue, but found he couldn’t. Though he would’ve laughed at the idea a couple of days ago, he truly did care about what happened to Clarke, whether the reward came or not.

            The realization scared him a little. He couldn’t afford too many attachments; he already had Octavia, and Miller, and against his better judgment the band of ex-scouts who looked up to him. And yet somehow Clarke – and her brother – had already wormed their way in with the others.

            “That feel okay?”

            Bellamy blinked, confused, before realizing Lincoln was asking about the bandage. “Uh, fine. Thanks.”

            Lincoln nodded and stood to help sort through supplies, leaving Bellamy to go over what had happened in his head—or attempt to, anyway. It was a bit too much for the moment, what with assassins tailing them, some person or thing called Wanheda trying to kill them, and a strange chip inside Clarke’s head. Hopefully some sleep would help to sort through it all, but he wasn’t hopeful about his chances—he now had two painful injuries to sleep on, and since they were now putting up a watch at all times, he’d be roused eventually anyway.

            Speaking of, Clarke looked like she was taking first watch, but she of all people should’ve been getting first rest. He stood to talk to her.

            “Isn’t Lincoln up first?” he asked, squatting beside where she’d set up with her gun.

            She kept her gaze on the trees. “I had us switch. He can go after Miller.”

            Bellamy tried to think of a good response that didn’t sound like an overprotective brother. “Lincoln doesn’t have some weird weapon stuck inside his neck.”

            “Which means he will have a much better chance of getting much-needed rest.” She turned her head to him, not unkindly. “I’d rather be up making sure you’re all safe than tossing and turning.”

            It was a good point, but Bellamy couldn’t help but argue a little. “I could at least stay up with you. In case something happens.”

            Clarke sighed heavily, but for a moment Bellamy swore he saw the corners of her mouth turn up. “You of all people need to get some rest, and you’re not supposed to be using a gun, so you wouldn’t be the best of help anyway.” She paused, then added, “But if something happens with my neck, I’ll wake one of you up, okay?”

            Bellamy decided that was the best he would get—and it made him feel a little better, knowing she wouldn’t try to handle it on her own. She seemed to have done that far too much in the past. “Okay, Clarke. Good night.”

            “Good night, Bellamy.”

 

An hour passed before Bellamy’s mind managed to calm down and stop checking over his shoulder for Clarke, and it was a while after that until his body slipped away, too. He slept too lightly for genuine dreams, getting only snatches of moments – his sister’s face, the crack of a bullet, a forest that went on forever – as he dipped in an out of consciousness.

            The fourth time he woke up, however, he couldn’t fall asleep again; there was a strange weight on his chest, like something was wrong, and the air felt too still. He ignored it for a minute or two, but eventually sat up and rubbed at his eyes, trying to adjust to the blackness around him.

            Slowly, things came into focus—the outline of Miller’s sleeping body, chest rising and falling; the backpack curled next to Lincoln’s arm; the rock where Clarke had remained perched since the beginning of her watch.

            Bellamy jerked in alarm. The  _empty_  rock. Clarke was gone.

            “Shit,” he hissed, scrambling to his feet. There didn’t seem to be a sign of struggle, or really any sign at  _all_. He could feel his heart swelling up with panic.

            But he had to remain calm. If he did this wrong, they could all end up dead. So instead of simply running off like he wanted to, Bellamy bent over Miller and shook him until he awoke with a groan. “Miller. Clarke’s gone.”

            He sat straight up. “ _What?_ ”

            “I need you to stay here and watch over Lincoln and the supplies while I find her.”

            “Alone? Hell no, Bellamy, you know that can’t end well. You don’t even know why she’s gone, or where she went.”

            “Neither do you!” Bellamy burst, then quickly reined in his temper. It wasn’t Miller he was angry at. “Listen, please. I need to make sure you’re both safe, and there’s a chance Clarke could find her way back anyway. Just stay here.”

            Miller pursed his lips, agitated, but nodded. “Okay. But you better come back, understand?”

            He breathed out a sigh of relief, placing his hand on Miller’s arm gently. “I will.”

            “Oh, and you might need this,” Miller added, reaching for one of the guns they’d gotten off the attackers. “Not quite a full case, and it’ll certainly attract attention, so only shoot if you need to.”

            “Thank you, Miller.”

            The barest hint of a smile crossed his friend’s features. “Of course, Bellamy. Go get Clarke.”

 

Approximately a minute after Bellamy set out, he realized he had no idea what his plan was. Wander around the woods at night, not knowing which way she had gone? Yell her name and hope it wouldn’t attract the attention of people with guns? But he couldn’t just sit around and hope she came back unharmed, so he kept going.

            A bitter voice burned in the back of his head as he searched, yelling her name uncaringly, searching for silhouettes or clues of travel.  _You’ve done this before,_  it told him.  _And you never found her._

_I did_ , he argued.  _Just a little late._

             _And then you lost her again._

            Bellamy swallowed hard against that thought. He hadn’t lost her yet, not for good, and he’d be damned before he let that happen.

            He’d been searching for a long time (far too long, he thought, he’d lost all sense of how to get back to the camp by now) when he heard it.

            Laughter.

            The realization jarred him for a moment—of all the noises he’d expected to hear, not one of them was joyful. But it was definitely Clarke’s laughter; he was sure of it.

            “Clarke?” he called, surging towards the sound with gun cautiously at the ready. “Clarke!”

            A few seconds later, he caught sight of her, and his heart nearly stopped with a strange mixture of relief and horror. She was seemingly unharmed, still in the same clothes as before with her weapons strapped to her waist, but her steps were ungainly and crooked, sending her in a circle as she ambled around, laughing with arms outstretched.

            Her eyes were closed.

            That stopped Bellamy in his tracks. Oh, God, was she  _asleep?_  Was this some sort of bizarre sleepwalking episode? He didn’t know how she could possibly have gotten all the way out here if she had no conscious alertness, but she hadn’t shown any sign of recognition when he’d called her name repeatedly.

            Then he shook his head clear. It didn’t matter how she got here, as long as she got back safe. He surged forward, gun still up, saying, “Clarke, it’s me, I’m gonna get you back safe,” and scanning for any signs of danger, but she danced away from him, still laughing with eyes closed, somehow oblivious to the whole situation.

            And then he saw them.

            Figures, in the trees, high in the branches. Surrounding him and Clarke.

            He immediately swung his gun upwards, but there were too many of them, and besides, they weren’t moving—no one reached for a weapon, or made a move to grab for Clarke. They were just...watching them, which somehow unnerved him more.

            Unsure whether to watch the figures or Clarke, Bellamy simply kept his gun raised and made sure Clarke was still in his line of sight. “Clarke,” he repeated, not quite trying to catch her for fear it would spur the attackers into action. “Clarke, it’s Bellamy. You need to wake up. You’re in danger. We need to get back to camp.”

            She didn’t respond, but her step did slow, like she was listening. His heart pounded. “Your brother’s waiting. Lincoln. Remember? He found you when you were little. We’re going to take you to your mom. I’m going to keep you safe.”

            Clarke stopped, arms dropping. Her eyes, though still closed, twitched.

            Almost without meaning to, Bellamy took a step forward. “It’s Bellamy, Clarke. It’s not safe here. We need to go back.”

            She inclined her face slightly to him, and Bellamy couldn’t help but notice how the trees rustled and shifted as she did. “Bellamy?”

            “Yes,” he breathed, nearly choking on relief. “It’s me. You’ve got to wake up, Clarke. We have to go.”

            He took a step forward, and her face suddenly twisted as if in pain, her body jerking away from him. “Clarke?” he asked, worry flooding back in. “Clarke?”

            “Mama,” she whimpered, taking a lurching step to the side. “Bell—Bell—”

            Bellamy’s heart lurched, but he didn’t have time to think about comforting her because by then the people in the trees – eight of them, at least – had made it to the ground, and they were running for her.

            He couldn’t take them all. He couldn’t even get two of them before they reached Clarke. So Bellamy did something stupid instead—

            He dove for Clarke, grabbed a hold of her, and held his gun to her head.

            Immediately, the figures froze. Bellamy clocked this reaction, carefully—they’d wanted Clarke dead a day ago, but now something was different. Now that Clarke had that chip in her head, they wanted her alive.

            “Don’t come a step closer,” he warned; he didn’t hold the gun directly against Clarke’s head, not wanting her to feel it – she was still not processing anything but her nightmare, mumbling and crying and thrashing against his hold – and he knew his hand was shaking, but this was all he had. The only way to get them out of this.

            “Bell,” Clarke mumbled, clearly crying now; he resisted the urge to soothe her, with difficulty. She sounded two years old again, just wanting someone to protect her; wanting her mom.

            One of the figures behind him spoke and he whirled to face them, intensely on edge. “You won’t kill her. I doubt you could even harm her.”

            He willed his voice not to shake. He just needed to stall until...until he thought of something. He just had to get Clarke out of this. “Better dead than subject to whatever you want with her.”

            “It is pointless to resist, Bellamy Blake. You know you cannot stop us, not when death only furthers our means.”

             _Wanheda_ , he remembered.  _Commander of death._

            “But not her death,” he said, remembering too their hesitation once they stuck that chip inside her head. “You need her alive, and you’re not sure how to handle that, because you’ve never had to worry about taking someone alive before.”

            Shifting among the crowd; he’d struck a nerve. “Was it you, I wonder, who tried to kill her so many years ago? Or have you and your Wanheda only now come to pick off the last of the legend, like vultures who came too late to a feast?”

            There was a pause as the group absorbed this, giving Bellamy some breathing room to think of a plan, but he had no ideas of how to fight off several trained attackers while also keeping a semi-conscious Clarke safe. The only thing he had, he realized, was what he’d already been using—words.

            It was a weak plan, one that would likely get them killed, but Bellamy had nothing else right now; nothing but the need to protect Clarke, where he had failed before.

            “You can’t touch us here,” Bellamy said slowly, tracking every miniscule movement the death-bringers made. “You won’t.” He thought hard, trying to piece together the puzzle; how they had put the chip in Clarke’s brain, then followed her here, but had not made a move until Bellamy had arrived. They hadn’t tried to take her. “Or maybe...you don’t want to. Not yet.”

            Two of the death-bringers gave each other distinct, almost worried looks, and Bellamy grinned. “Yes, that’s it. She’s not ready for you to take, is she? You’re just watching now, but I’m getting in the way. I’m messing with your process, I’m figuring out your plan, and that messes with you, especially when I’m still alive.

            “But you can’t stop me, can you? Because you need her, desperately; your plan, it centers around her. You’ve probably been told time and time again not to ruin it, to treat her like precious cargo or else. But I haven’t been warned. And by God, if I think leaving her with you will do her more harm than death, I’ll put a bullet in her head.”

            He had to swallow those words, hard, hating the way they tasted in his mouth. He gripped the gun tighter.

            “You think us to be weak, Belomi kom Skaikru,” one said from behind, reminding Bellamy he was surrounded and they could shoot him through the back at any moment. “But it is you who is weak. Confined to think only in your puny living state, saying pretty words to continue your pitiful life just a little longer. It is pathetic, truly.”

            “As pathetic as needing the lives of others to do your dirty work? You tried to kill me, too, specifically, so you must need me dead as well. Does it frustrate you to know you’d be nothing without your enemies?”

            At this point, he leaned over Clarke a little, whispering in her ear. “Come on, Clarke, let’s go.”

            It was all bravado, and some weak bravado at that, but they had to get out of here  _somehow_ , and Bellamy didn’t see how it could be by force. He was expecting a moment of surprise, maybe enough time to bolt and pray for a miracle, or at least add a few extra moments to the clock.

            He got neither of those things, but he did get something else—

            Clarke woke up.

            He noticed something was different first because Clarke’s crying and shaking had stopped, and then because the others had done deathly still. His eyes followed theirs, and when he saw Clarke’s blue eyes opening blearily to look at him, he jumped away in surprise, his gun going down on instinct.

            The only thing that saved Bellamy from this mistake was that the death-bringers had made their own. They stared wide-eyed at Clarke, weapons drooping, unaware of Bellamy for just half a second—which was precisely enough time for him to tackle Clarke to the ground.

            Gunshots cracked the air above him just as he hit the ground, and before he had time to brace himself for more, he felt an arm and a leg come around his back and then he was being flipped over, with Clarke now on top.

            “Clarke—” he hissed, panicking, but she stubbornly stayed where she was, covering his body with hers as she reached for her gun.

            “Gun, Bellamy,” she ordered, taking in the array of attackers with distracted eyes. “Use it.”

            He lifted the gun in response, which he was still somehow holding. Aiming for the nearest attacker, who had stalled when Clarke became the main source of impact, he steeled himself and fired. They crumpled, just as another gunshot cracked near his ear; a fatal cry of pain somewhere to his right followed.

            “Stay down, yeah?” Clarke muttered as she took aim at another one, but they had already scrambled; now that she was blocking their target and no longer nonsensical, they would need a new plan.

            From his odd position – on his back, covered by another body, unable to twist or adjust – aiming was a bit difficult, so Bellamy could really take almost no credit for the few minutes that followed. It was Clarke who really picked them off, one after another until only two remained, taking cover behind a nearby tree.

            At this point, Clarke finally got off Bellamy, though she remained in front of him with gun up while he stood. Knowing there could be other attackers they hadn’t seen yet, Bellamy stood back-to-back with her, crouching a little so no one would get any ideas about shooting him in the head.

            “It’s over,” Clarke said, though Bellamy doubted she was very aware of what ‘this’ was. “You’ve lost.”

            Bellamy twisted and saw the death-bringers coming out slowly, guns up; he abandoned the idea of other attackers and stood beside Clarke instead, making it two versus two.

            “She’s not ready and you know it,” Bellamy growled, hoping to God he was right. They weren’t expecting her to wake up; it had to mean something had gone wrong with the chip or whatever else might’ve caused her state.

            The death-bringers snarled, but their aim faltered momentarily, which Bellamy took to mean yes. “You can either run or die, and if you choose the latter, we’ll make sure no one ever finds you.”

            There was a long, terrible moment of silence, and Bellamy sensed Clarke readying herself, like he was, to either pull the trigger first or die trying.

            Then the death-bringers dropped their guns and ran.

            They could’ve shot them as they fled, but neither finger applied any pressure to the triggers—maybe in a moment of mercy, or perhaps because they were too weary of death at the moment to deal with any more.

            By the way Clarke lowered her gun, slow and heavy, he guessed it was a little of both.

            Her hand was also shaking, along with the rest of her body, and Bellamy felt that ache in his heart well up again. “Clarke, are you—”

            She slammed into him, arms going around his back like a vice, burying her face into his shoulder with a choked sob. Bellamy froze for a moment, too shocked to respond, before his brain kicked in and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her against him. She shook with each sob, and instinctively he cupped her head in his hand, whispering nonsensical little phrases of comfort as he rocked her side to side.

            All the while, he kept his gun up with his free arm, worried still about what could be waiting for them.

            When she began to calm down, Bellamy worked up the courage to say, “You didn’t wake me up.”

            “What?” she asked, muffled by his shirt.

            “If something went wrong. You said you’d wake me up, but you didn’t.”

            There was a pause, then Clarke drew away, looking up at him with red eyes but a cleared expression. “No,” she said at last. “I guess you woke me up instead.”

 

They got halfway back to camp when Miller and Lincoln, who apparently didn’t know how to follow orders, found them. They started fussing over them immediately, but Bellamy insisted they get out of the open before any real examinations.

            “The gunshots woke Lincoln,” Miller explained as they walked, “and he didn’t even ask before he ran off, so I figured there was nothing to do but follow him.”

            “So you left the camp unguarded?” Bellamy asked.

            “All the tools were replaceable, but the people in this crew are not, and I wasn’t sure what you two were up against.” Bellamy nodded, conceding the point, and Miller continued, “We went as fast as we could, but the gunshots stopped suddenly, when they were still far off, so we had to sort of guess at the direction.”

            Bellamy snorted at that, imagining them wandering through the forest much like he had, calling out names and praying for a sign or a coincidence.

            When they arrived, Miller took up guard and they sat in a tight circle to explain all that happened. The first bit was the only one Bellamy didn’t know—how Clarke had been pulled away.

            “I accidentally dozed off,” she began, “and in my dream, I was little again, playing with Lincoln in that wide-open field right by the village. I was...happy.”

            The way she said it, so wistful and far-off, made Bellamy’s heart clench.

            “But then it shifted,” she continued, her tone filling with steel, “and Lincoln was gone; everyone was. I was alone, and everything was blurry, and too loud, and I just kept running and running, not knowing what to do but knowing I just needed to get away from the monsters. God, I was so alone....”

            She paused, swallowing hard, then glanced at Bellamy. “Then I heard a voice, in my dream and in real life: ‘Come on, Clarke, let’s go.’ And...I woke up.”

            Lincoln found this rather intriguing. “Was it some sort of trigger phrase? For the chip?”

            Clarke shook her head slowly. “No, I think—I don’t know how I know, but I feel like that was something he really said to me, the boy who saved me. It sorted of...hooked me back into reality.”

            She cut off sharply then, apparently not wanting to talk about it anymore, and turned the story over to Bellamy. He told his half, careful about his phrasing when he got to the part about holding a gun to Clarke’s head, and by the time he finished, everyone’s faces were solemn.

            “So they want me alive now,” Clarke said thoughtfully; Bellamy’s gaze shot to her, shocked. Had she not known before? By the way she had acted in the fight, he’d assumed she knew they wouldn’t fire.

            “It has to be the chip,” Miller added, nodding in assent. “Before, they wanted her dead, and now they need her alive.”

            “It must’ve been what sent her those dreams, led her away,” Lincoln said with a dark expression. “Somehow, it must connect to her neural pathway.”

            “Yes, but the connection’s not very strong; not yet, anyway,” Clarke said. “Otherwise they could’ve compelled me away from Bellamy. And once I woke up, they couldn’t do anything at all.”

            “That must be what it meant that you weren’t ‘ready,’” Bellamy realized. “They don’t want to take you until they think they can control you.”

            Clarke shivered at that. “If we could prevent that, I’d appreciate it.”

            “We will,” Lincoln promised, “and for now, we’ll add some extra precautions as well.”

            “Which are?” Miller asked.

            “Clarke doesn’t go anywhere alone, or do watch alone either.”

            Clarke frowned at that, but nodded anyway; she knew it was needed. “In that case, we probably need someone nearer to me when I sleep, too. Bellamy’s presence...it helped, I think; calmed me and fought against the dream.”

            She glanced at Bellamy, holding his gaze for a moment, and he swallowed hard.

            “Sounds like a plan,” Lincoln said gruffly. “I’ll take that duty first, and we’ll switch as needed with watches.”

            Clarke held Bellamy’s eye for a moment more, just a little too long, before looking at her brother. “Sounds good to me.”

            It felt like they should’ve been going to sleep right then, but it occurred to Bellamy it was actually very early morning—the sun was barely peeking out, bathing the world in dim, splintered  light.

            That didn’t stop him from yawning, though.

            “We should stay here today,” Miller said, noting it. “Work out a plan, then get as much rest as we can tonight and enact it tomorrow.”

            “Plan? I thought we already had one,” Clarke frowned.

            “For getting to the capital, maybe, though even that was a little iffy,” Miller said, cutting his eyes to Bellamy sharply before continuing. “But I’m not sure we should risk that until we’re sure you’re not going to be a danger to yourself or others. We need to figure out how to get that chip out of you, or stop it from furthering...whatever it is it’s doing.”

            Everyone agreed fervently, but Bellamy could feel the one question hanging over them all like that damned chip inside Clarke’s neck:

             _How?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr
> 
> tell me if you like it? ily <3


	10. Let This Road Be Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to get the chip out of Clarke's head, but who would know how? (Perhaps an old friend can give them a clue.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now is when we start going hilariously off the canon anastasia i really don't care tho let's get some blarke shit

The plan they came up with was less a plan and more a step one which would hopefully lead to more ideas. Apparently, Miller had an old friend, Jasper or something like that, who had a lot of knowledge and a lot of connections—probably from less than reputable sources, but Clarke figured she couldn’t judge.

            “He’s our best and safest bet for finding a way to help Clarke,” he said firmly. “And there’s only about seven miles between us and him.”

            “Can we trust him?” Lincoln asked, always the skeptic.

            Miller nodded. “He’s a bit off the rails at times, but I’d trust him with my life, and he’s gotten good at keeping his mouth shut when he needs to.”

            Lincoln paused, but nodded. “If he can help Clarke, I say go for it.”

            There was no disagreement, so they set up their gear to be ready at first light and ate a fair share of food before settling down for bed, though it was barely starting to get dark by this point. Truth be told, they were all exhausted, and could’ve probably fallen asleep an hour after they’d woken up; besides, it was going to be yet another long day tomorrow. They deserved some extra rest.

            As planned, Lincoln pushed his sleeping bag beside Clarke, draping an arm over her. The part of her that tended to resist her brother’s attempts to treat her like a child wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. She had agreed to this, and besides, she did find some comfort in knowing he was right there to protect her.

            Despite that, Clarke struggled to fall asleep, and found herself watching out into the night, searching the shadows; then her gaze shifted to Bellamy, who was on watch. She thought of the forest last night, the strange feeling through both her dreams and her nightmare that someone was there—holding onto her, humming into her ear. Steadying her.

            She’d felt the same way when he hugged her, when the brutal upheaval into reality after such a helpless nightmare broke the last of her self-control—like he knew there was nothing he could do, and he’d be there anyway.

            It was a dangerous feeling, she knew. Bellamy had his sister to take care of, a life to get back to, while she seemed to trail fire and death wherever she went. How many had died already, since she’d come out into the open? How much time had she wasted for Bellamy, for Miller, for her brother?

            Her heart filled with cement thinking about it. She didn’t like feeling like a burden, especially one that caused lasting damage as well as annoyance, but it appeared the others were determined to stick with her for now, so she tried to push it aside and get some sleep.

 

They traveled quickly the next day, a strong combination of fear and nervous energy driving them forwards. Bellamy and Clarke stuck to the middle, being the biggest target options for multiple reasons; his shoulder brushed hers as they walked, giving her a little reassurance of his presence without having to look too often.

            The town they ended up in was small and mostly empty, but there was an energy there, like background buzzing; things happening everywhere, just out of sight. Miller led them to a shack-like but sizable building and knocked on the door rapidly; the buzzing swelled like whispering voices in response.

            “You’re sure this is the place?” Bellamy asked after several long moments of waiting.

            “Yeah, it’s the place,” Miller confirmed, “I’ve just got a  _paranoid dick_  for a friend in there!” He yelled the last bit at the door, rapping with his fist again.

            Clarke groaned, fearing he’d fucked up their chances of getting help, but only seconds later the door opened and a man appeared, scrawny and dark haired with a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Miller! Good to see you, pal.”

            He pulled Miller into a side hug, which was surprisingly reciprocated, then gave the rest of them a once-over. “Finally made some friends?” His eyes landed on Bellamy and widened. “Man, weird seeing you. Still on the run?”

            “Still hiding?” Bellamy replied with a smirk, but he stuffed his hands into his pockets uncomfortably. His bravado hid a great deal more emotion, Clarke was realizing, and it made her heart kind of...turn over a little, in a way she couldn’t place.

            Bellamy nudged her to walk inside, and she tucked the feelings away.

            The inside of Jasper’s place was the opposite of the rest of the town. It was filled with knickknacks and clutter, every surface covered without rhyme or reason, and yet there was a certain stillness to everything. The way Jasper moved through it all, it was like he was the only thing there—like nothing existed, nothing moved, until he let it.

            “So, what do you need?” Jasper asked, leading them through the mess to a back room, this one a little sparser. There were some seats, and he invited the group to sit down, which they did gratefully after the long hours of trekking.

            Bellamy wasted no time dawdling in formalities. “Do you know anything about a Wanheda?”

            Jasper looked visibly stunned. “What the hell did you do to get involved with her?”

            “So it’s a person?”

            “Depends on what you define as a person,” Jasper muttered, seeming shaken. “She used to be called Becca, apparently; a sky person.”

            “So she had been on the Ark?” Miller asked.

            Slowly, Jasper shook his head. “No. She came down at the start of the first apocalypse.”

            The whole group gaped. “That was nearly a hundred years ago!” Bellamy blurted. “How is she still alive?”

            “Like I said before, depends on your definition of alive. Becca, or Wanheda, whatever you want to call her, she was  _hella_  smart. She developed a kind of...technology, to preserve the brain after death. And not just the physical thing, mind you, but everything inside it—the person’s memories, feelings, thoughts...all of it.

            “And not only that,” he said, as if that wasn’t enough of a bomb to drop on them, “but she was working on some AI developments at the same time. No one ever confirmed her finishing it, but from the stories I heard...she finished it, all right. And she used it to preserve herself.”

            Seeming to realize they were going to need a moment to absorb all that, Jasper leaned against the wall, fiddling with something in his hands.

            “It makes sense,” Bellamy said at last; Clarke turned to him. “The things they said in the forest, about thinking past our living state; how they knew what happened with that first shooter.” He glanced at Clarke, or at her neck, rather, and looked back up to Jasper. “And what do you know about a chip?”

            Jasper’s gaze darkened with understanding. “One of you has it.”

            Bellamy met Clarke’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, requesting permission, but she beat him to it. “I do. We were attacked, and one of them stuck it in my neck.”

            “Let me see it.”

            Clarke stood obediently, and Lincoln did, too, helping to push aside her hair and make sure Jasper didn’t try anything. He touched it very lightly, just for a moment, and Clarke felt it pulse a little, recognizing a presence. The spider leg tendrils inside her neck, which had remained dormant since Bellamy had woken her up, shifted uncomfortably at the contact; she winced.

            “It’s one of hers, all right,” Jasper said, withdrawing his finger. “That infinity symbol is her trademark.” Clarke turned, letting her hair drop again, and he shook his head, maybe a little sadly. “A whole lot of trouble, that thing is. Nothing good ever comes out of it, especially the longer it’s in there.”

            “Then how do we get rid of it?” Bellamy broke in, low and direct. He wrung his hands together nervously, the veins in his neck a little too pronounced.

            Jasper frowned. “That’s the tricky part. You can’t just rip it out; it won’t let you, and it would do life-ending damage even if you could. It has to let go of you.”

            “Let go? What does that mean?” Clarke asked, hand going to her neck as if she could simply ask and the chip would politely step out and find someone else. Instead, it curled up inside her neck, like it was hissing.

            Okay, yeah, she was definitely going crazy.

            “It has to release its hold on you, and then you can just pull it out easily.”

            “Who knows how to do that?” Miller asked, standing. “I assume you must have connections to the solution, if you know this much.”

            Jasper nodded. “By the ocean, there’s a kru of outcasts—people who didn’t want to be part of everything going on over here, or were forced to run.”

            “Floukru,” Lincoln said, eyes widening. “Then you must be speaking of Luna.”

            “Yes,” Jasper said, surprised. “You know her?”

            “She’s an old friend of mine,” Lincoln affirmed. “We’ve known each other a long time, even before she fled to the sea.”

            “That’s good for you, because Floukru is a hard place to get into; too many people who need or want to be hidden.”

            Bellamy stood at last, putting his hands into his pockets again with hunched shoulders. He looked deeply unsettled, and Clarke resisted the urge to move closer to him. “How far is it from here?”

            “A good while, unfortunately; at least thirty miles.”

            He swore under his breath. “That’s a hell of a long trip to walk.”

            “You don’t have a ride?” Jasper asked.

            Miller pounced on this immediately. “Did you have something in mind for us?”

            It was clearly not the direction Jasper had been going with his question, but he thought for a moment anyway. “I have been fixing up an old rover that I’m losing use for, since most people come to me now,” he said slowly, “but it ain’t free.”

            “What do you need for it?” Miller pressed—and, being Miller, he managed to trade the vehicle for some money, supplies, and favors in about five minutes.

            “I assume you’ll want to get going as soon as possible,” Jasper said, “so I’ll just show you to the rover right away.”

            As they shuffled out of the room, Bellamy rubbed at his arm, where the wound was, and Jasper noticed. “Luna’s a normal healer, too, you know.”

            Clarke brightened at this; not being able to go to a normal doctor had been plaguing her, and having a chance to get Bellamy’s injuries properly healed sounded as nice as a bath right now. Which was to say,  _really fucking nice._

            Bellamy only nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets again.

            They followed Jasper to a tightly locked shed behind the building, where he dramatically flung off a large tarp to reveal a black rover with bolted windows and a thick, bulky exterior. It looked like it might attract some attention, more than they wanted, but Jasper claimed it was also somewhat bulletproof, so Clarke loved it immediately.

            “Some of you guys know how to drive, right?” Jasper asked, holding up the keys.

            Bellamy and Miller did, which was a relief. Jasper tossed the keys to Miller, wished them luck, and then walked back inside.

            Everyone stood there for a few seconds, shocked into silence, before Miller took charge. “Lincoln, you take shotgun for navigation. Bellamy and Clarke, you two stay low. I’m not sure we want either of you to be seen right now.”

            Clarke and Bellamy deftly agreed and they piled into the rover, hurrying out of town as soon as Miller could get a feel for the controls.

            In the back, Clarke watched Bellamy carefully as he pulled off his jacket and settled into the seat. She considered not saying anything, then decided they should probably be past that stage by now. “You okay?”

            He glanced over, a little surprised. “Yeah. Fine. Are you?”

            The last bit seemed a lot more genuine than his own answer, but Clarke let it slide. “I’m okay. Anything to report on that arm?” The bandage was looking awfully worn-through already.

            “Still have a bullet in there,” he said, shrugging. “Your leg?”

            Clarke had nearly forgotten about her leg; less because of the pain, because it did still sting when she walked or bent it the wrong way, and more because there were far more important things that needed worrying about. “Doing fine; it was just a scratch anyway.”

            Bellamy nodded, averting his gaze a little, and Clarke shifted uncomfortably at the awkwardness settling between them. She  _knew_  something else was wrong—well, okay,  _everything_  was wrong, but she could tell there was something specific right now, and she wanted to know what it was, but she didn’t know how to word it, or if she should.

            She was still trying to figure out what to say when Bellamy beat her to it. “You should get some rest.” When she looked at him, he added, “You deserve it.”

            He said it almost offhandedly, but there was a softness in his tone belying casualty, and Clarke felt oddly touched. “You do, too,” she said, unsure of another reply.

            Bellamy nodded coolly and turned away, but Clarke saw a small smile tugging at his lips when he ducked his head, and she had to fight down a surge of pride at the sight.

            Biting her lip against a smile of her own, Clarke leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes to sleep.

 

Bellamy roused her some time later; the rover had stopped. Looking around, she saw they had parked on a beach, the ocean spreading out in front of them endlessly.

            “Time to meet Luna,” Bellamy said, giving her a look that was equally eager and apprehensive.

            She nodded and felt for the gun at her belt. “Ready?”

            “Ready.”

            As they stepped out of the rover and locked it up, everyone kept their hands carefully by their weapons, though they didn’t get them out yet. No one was around, as far as Clarke could tell, but she doubted that meant anything. The four of them stuck close, shoulder to shoulder, and looked to Lincoln for direction.

            “So? How do we get in?”

            Lincoln pulled a bag from his pocket. “If we light a fire and put this in it, it’ll glow green. They’ll see the signal, know we’re here, and come to meet us soon enough. If I can convince them we’re friendly and only seek assistance, they’ll take us there.”

            “If?” Clarke asked.

            His jaw clenched. “I can’t guarantee it, because Luna is a private and somewhat paranoid person, but knowing her will help us immensely.”

            “What if she rejects us?”

            Lincoln sighed. “I don’t know. But do we have another option?”

            There was silence in response, because they all knew the answer to that. Clarke’s neck prickled.

            After setting up the fire, they waited for a long while; long enough they began to get bored, taking turns watching the fire and being in the rover.

            Bellamy had walked with Miller down a little way, clearly to talk about something private, so Clarke stayed with her brother and helped him add more firewood, then drew designs in the sand with her finger.

            It was quiet; oddly so, which kept Clarke on edge. She didn’t understand how there could be so little activity on an open beach, especially one with an access point to a safe haven, but she doubted the reason could be anything good.

            As it got darker, Clarke began to worry more, wondering if they had sent the signal wrong, or if no one was watching, or if they’d seen it and were just ignoring them. She itched to have her gun out, but Lincoln warned her that Luna was an extreme pacifist, so she obediently kept it in the holster, even when he went to find more firewood and she was left on the beach with nothing but the rover for company.

            As she idly poked at the fire with a stick, Clarke caught a snatch of movement on the water, almost a shadow. Tensing immediately, she gingerly took a couple steps away from the fire, squinting to see better, and saw something rising out of the waves. Several somethings, in fact, with bubble-like helmets and heavy clothing and, worst of all, crossbows.

            She stepped back.

            Perhaps she should’ve just turned tail and run, or at least pulled out her gun, but these could be Floukru delegates, and if she ran away from now, they might never come back. So she stood her ground, albeit hesitantly, trying to keep her hands from straying to her waist.

            They came closer, still with no sign of speaking or lowering their weapons, and Clarke swallowed hard. “I am here with my companions, seeking refuge with Floukru. We are friends to Luna, and seek her assistance to—”

            Before she could finish, something cracked against her skull from behind. She cried out in pain, crumpling to the ground, and then they were swarming her, one holding her head firmly in place while the other tried to cover her mouth with a cloth. She thrashed violently, attempting to squirm out of their grip, but it was taking most of her energy to not collapse from the pulsing ache emanating from the back of her head.

            “Hey! Get off her!” a voice bellowed.  _Bellamy_. She managed to twist her head to the side and saw him running towards them, gun out and ready, Miller not far behind.

            Several warriors turned on them, crossbows cocked, and the one trying to knock Clarke out paused for a moment, hand dropping but knee unmoving from her chest.

            “I said get off her,” Bellamy growled, fire filling his eyes.

            There were a few moments of standoff, and Clarke worried it would come to shooting, but a new voice broke the silence with frightening calmness:

            “Back away from my sister.”

            Everyone turned to Lincoln’s voice, even Clarke; he walked towards them, tall and furious, with no weapon but a hell of a lot of power.

            At the sight of him, the warriors pulled away, letting Clarke go and backing up a couple steps. Bellamy kept his gun trained on them until Lincoln had gotten to Clarke and helped her up, then finally let it drop, though he didn’t put it away.

            “You okay?” Lincoln whispered in her ear, looking softer now.

            Clarke nodded, though her head was throbbing. “Some diplomatic measures would be appreciated, though.”

            Lincoln smirked at her. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got that handled, as usual.”

            He pushed her gently to stand by Bellamy and Miller; they shifted so she could stand between them, and despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile a little at their protectiveness.

            “What is the meaning of this?” Lincoln asked, with none of the softness he’d just shown her.

            “We saw the signal and came to investigate, but found only Skaikru and suspected something was amiss,” one of the warriors said, pulling off his water helmet. He appeared to be the leader, because the others followed suit and stood still, awaiting orders.

            “So you whacked me in the head and tried to knock me out?” Clarke grumbled under her breath.

            “They hit you, too?” Bellamy hissed. “Are you bleeding?”

            Clarke felt to be sure and found no blood. “No. Hurts like a bitch, though.”

            She saw just the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth before he turned his attention back to the matter at hand; it took her an extra moment to do the same.

            “They’re with me. That girl is my sister, Clair—” Clarke noted carefully how he used her Trikru name instead of her real one— “and those two are my friends. We have come to seek safe passage across the water, to see Luna.”

            The head Floukru man frowned, but didn’t reject them yet. “Why do you need to see her?”

            “We are not currently safe in any other clan’s borders, but we have multiple bullet wounds to mend and my sister is seriously ill. I think only Luna can help us.”

            Clarke mentally applauded Lincoln for his ability with speaking, though it was not a surprise to her; no matter how good he was with a bow and arrow, Lincoln always had a special affinity for peacekeeping.

            “Very well.” The man reached into his pocket, and Clarke shrunk back, worried it was a trick, but he only pulled out a piece of rolled leather, which he opened to reveal several vials filled with strange liquid. “If you wish to see Luna, you must drink this. Each of you.”

            Noting their skeptical expressions, Lincoln looked at the others encouragingly. “It’s safe, I promise.” Then he took a vial, drank it slowly, and had just enough time to hand the empty vial to one of the warriors before he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

            Clarke surged towards him with a cry; Bellamy had to hold her back, muttering not to do anything stupid, though she could hear the anger in his own voice.

            “What did you do to him?” she demanded. “What is this?”

            “You can drink it, or you can leave and let Lincoln go alone. Signal the boat,” the man added to another warrior, who grabbed a burning stick from the fire and walked off towards the water. “But this is your last chance.”

            Miller stepped forwards first, grabbing it and downing the whole thing in one go like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. He swayed and then dropped as well, and then it was just Bellamy and Clarke left.

            She looked at him and found genuine fear in his eyes. There was some in her own, she was sure, but she tried to force it down. “Together?”

            Bellamy swallowed, nodding, and they took a vial each, pausing for a moment as they tried to gather their courage. Then Bellamy did something unexpected—with his free hand, he scrambled to grab Clarke’s, clenching her fingers tightly. She jumped a little, surprised, but didn’t let go. If he needed support, here when they could be drinking their own deaths, she could give that to him. God knew he deserved it.

            She offered him a small nod, gripping his hand a little tighter, and tossed back the drink before she could overthink it any more. It tasted like nothing, and yet she felt something crawling up her throat as she sank to the ground; something that made her wish she’d said goodbye.

            Her gaze went fuzzy, and she thought she saw Bellamy’s eyes turn to her before her gaze went black, but she was never able to be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr hmu <3
> 
> tell me if ur liking the direction!
> 
> also i'm so emo #blarke4evah


	11. On the Wind, Across the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang meets Luna and begin a plan to get the chip out of Clarke's head. Now if she could only do the same about her thoughts about Bellamy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried so hard to reel in blarke in this fic bc it's supposed to be slowburn and this is definitely the chapter where it unreels lol ur welcome yall

Colors swirled in Clarke’s eyes as she opened them, dizzied with the effort of coming back to consciousness. When she was adjusted and able to sit up, she found herself in a structure similar to a containment box; it was rusted, with holes near the top that let sunlight rush in and sting her eyes. The others were waking up as well, eyes full of confusion as they got to their feet but gratefully unharmed.

            Bellamy gave her a look as she stood up, one that said, _So we’re not dead yet,_ and she offered him a small lift of her mouth in reply. She was grateful for that, but _yet_ was always a worrying word.

            With that in mind, she felt for her gun, wanting its security, but it was gone, along with her knife. She panicked at this, but the look the others gave her revealed all their weapons had been taken; they would simply have to wait to see if they could get them back.

            She rubbed the back of her head, wincing; the pounding had intensified with being drugged, but that was low priority now. First, they needed to figure out where they were—and then, if they were in Floukru as she prayed, find Luna.

            The structure had a single path they could follow, and Lincoln affirmed it was the way out. As they winded around upwards, she caught up to him, hissing under her breath, “You really couldn’t have told us about the passing out part? Warned us, _hey, you’re not going to die, I know what’s about to happen_?”

            “I did tell you it was safe,” he said, shrugging, but she saw the mischievous glint in his eye and shoved him.

            “Lincoln! We thought you might be _dead_ or something.”

            “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he relented, wrapping an arm around her momentarily. “But I’m not dead, so that’s good, right?”

            “I’m debating,” she muttered, and he laughed, but she didn’t really hear it, because at that point they came to the opening of the structure.

            The sunlight was the first thing that hit her eyes, almost painfully; then the view, blue as far as she could see. No land, no other structures, just open water.

            They weren’t just by the ocean, she realized. They were in the _middle_ of it.

            As this sunk in, several figures approached, but only one came close enough to speak to them—a woman with wild, beautiful brown hair, a chiseled face, and warm, sad eyes, dressed in mismatched clothes and jewelry that somehow radiated the sea.

            She saw Lincoln and her demeanor melted a little, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him.

            “Oh, Lincoln, I have missed you,” she murmured as she pulled away, surveying him. “You look worse for wear than at your last visit.”

            “Which is why we’ve come, Luna, though I wish I could’ve been here only to see you,” he said, warm but with urgency. He gestured to the other three, who shrunk a little under Luna’s gaze. “These are my three companions; the girl is my adopted sister.”

            Luna’s eyebrows raised a touch at this. “This is Clair? For some reason I imagined her differently.” She walked forward, scanning Clarke thoroughly with her eyes, which made Clarke feel an equal mixture of both exposure and safety. “And your friends? They do not look Trikru to me.”

            Lincoln shook his head. “They are Skaikru, but good ones, I promise you. They’ve kept my sister and me safe many a time already.”

            Luna frowned, turning back to him. “You are in danger then. What happened?”

            Glancing at Clarke momentarily, Lincoln said quietly, “We might want to discuss it somewhere more private.”

            Nodding curtly, Luna turned and wordlessly led them across the deck of the structure; Clarke looked around as much as she could, fascinated by the people walking by and the clothes they wore and the otherworldly feeling around everything.

            They went down into what Clarke felt to be the heart of Floukru, with soft, dim lighting and people filling the space with music and discussion and laughter. Luna directed them to an unoccupied area in the back, which appeared to be the closest thing they had to privacy.

            “Now,” she told Lincoln as they sat down, “what led you here?”

            Lincoln told the whole story, leaving out nothing save for the current price on Bellamy and Miller’s heads; he got far without interruptions, all the way until he described the chip, and then Luna stopped cold.

            “You still have it?” she asked Clarke directly. “Inside your neck?”

            Clarke nodded, twisting to show her, and Luna sighed heavily. “This is not good, Lincoln. Wanheda will want to use her, and according to what you have said, she could be a powerful pawn for the commander.”

            “It’s already begun,” Bellamy said tersely. “In her sleep, the chip sent her dreams, led her away, right to some of Wanheda’s little henchmen.”

            “And they did not take her?”

            “They wanted to, at first, but I—I managed to wake her up. They didn’t have so much interest then.”

            “So the link is weak still,” Luna said, confirming their theories. “That is good at least. We need to get it out as soon as possible.”

            “Yes,” Lincoln agreed. “What do we have to do?”

            “And while we’re at it,” Miller added, “Clarke and Bellamy both have bullet wounds that need tending.”

            “We will attend to those first, and then discuss what to do for you, Clarke,” Luna said after a few moments of pause. “As you likely know, it will not be easy to get the chip out of you, especially if Wanheda has a special reason for wanting to control you.”

            “Don’t we want to start the process as soon as possible then?” Bellamy asked.

             “You will all need your strength as a first priority,” she replied. “You will be safe here; Wanheda may have a far reach, but she cannot lure Clarke somewhere she does not know, and clearly she cannot see through Clarke’s eyes.”

            Bellamy grumbled a little, but accepted this, and they were both herded away to get proper care for their wounds. The healers scolded Bellamy over and over for not treating his arm or side with enough care as they worked on him, and Clarke had to try very hard not to give him an _I-told-you-so_ look; she only half succeeded.

            When the healers finished, they were sent off to do...nothing, really. Luna thought they needed a night’s rest and a full day ahead of them before starting anything. Clarke didn’t feel comfortable sitting with the rest of Floukru, not like Lincoln did, so she, Bellamy, and Miller all stayed in their corner.

            They sat a while like that, interacting little, before they gained a visitor—a woman likely between Clarke and Bellamy’s age, with long, dark hair and an athletic build. She wore a worn shirt and a red jacket, giving her a distinctly Skaikru vibe; there was a brace on one of her legs.

            “Luna told me you’re staying with us for a little bit, so I thought I’d give you a welcome,” she said, hands on her hips. “I’m Raven Reyes, second in command, and I’m not fond of bullshit so I hope you didn’t pack any.”

            Clarke liked her immediately. “Clarke Griffin,” she said, not even bothering with her fake name.

            “In the flesh,” Raven said with a half-smile, looking Clarke up and down momentarily.

            Bellamy and Miller introduced themselves as well, and then Raven sat down in front of them, leaning her arms against her knees conspiratorially. “So, which one of you has the chip again?” Clarke blinked in surprise, but lifted her chin to show it was her. “I’m sorry about that. It’s a nasty thing, inside and out; I’ve still got the scars.”

            “Wait. You had the chip?” Clarke asked, disbelieving.

            “One of them, yeah. The one in your head isn’t the only one they’ve got.”

            “But you got it out, safely,” Bellamy pressed.

            Raven winced a little at the word _safely_. “It’s out. The final part’s the worst for sure, because the chip tends to resist the most then, but I managed. And it’ll be better for you, I hope, since I was the first one Luna tried the whole process on in the first place.”

            “You? The first one? How did you survive?”

            Raven grinned proudly. “Because I’m awesome, obviously. Now, onto better stuff. Tell me about yourselves.”

            That was an uneasy topic for all three of them, Clarke knew, but there was something trustworthy about Raven; even just from the last minute with her, Clarke could tell she’d been to hell and back and it was hell who ended up begging. And yet she smiled like she’d seen no darkness, feared no evil; wholly confident in the best of ways.

            So Clarke talked about her childhood, filling up the silence in case Bellamy or Miller didn’t want to, and slowly they added their own stories—meaningless ones, about playing with a little sister, or an old boyfriend, or the first time they’d hit a target with a gun. It was calming, somehow, making the time pass a little faster, and Clarke suspected this was Raven’s plan exactly when she came to visit them.

            Eventually, Luna came to send them off to bed; she smiled warmly when she saw Raven sitting with them.

            “Keeping them company instead of me?” she asked in what Clarke could only describe as a teasing tone.

            Raven rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m not going to bed with them, am I? And they don’t have people to order and children to teach like you do.” She nodded at them with a conspiratorial glance. “Don’t mind her; she’s the jealous type even if she won’t admit it. We’ll take you to your rooms.”

            Their ‘rooms’ turned out to be one large room, full of blankets, makeshift mattresses, and people. “Those are empty,” she said, pointing, “and you are free to take them if you like.”

            “And if you don’t, there’s always the floor or the top deck,” Raven suggested, smirking. Luna elbowed her.

            “Thank you,” Miller said, nodding curtly. “You’ve been the most gracious hosts we’ve had in a while.”

            “I do not doubt that, somehow,” she said, waving them off. “Get some rest; it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

            They had no clothes to change into – all that had been left with the rover – so as they went over to the cots they simply stripped off their outer layers and shoes, deciding that would be enough. Clarke saved one for Lincoln, then took the one next to him; Bellamy took the one next to her, and Miller the one next to him.

            For a while, Clarke simply lay in the dark, trying to adjust to whispers all around when she’d been so used to silence. She felt exposed, out there in the open, like anything could happen and anyone could turn on her. Helpless.

            Finally, she gave up and rolled onto her side, whispering, “Bellamy. Are you awake?”

            He turned his head to her. “What is it?”

            She tried to swallow down her awkwardness. “Could you—I need someone with me, to sleep.”

            Bellamy glanced over her shoulder at Lincoln, who had arrived shortly after them and was already sleeping, then drew his eyes back to her. “Luna said you’d be safe from the dreams here.”

            Clarke bit her lip. “I know, but...could you please just come over here?”

            Watching her for a moment longer, Bellamy nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay.”

            He pushed off his blanket and crawled over to her; she shifted backwards so he would fit on the lumpy, handmade mattress, and then was faced with the dilemma of positioning. He seemed to be waiting for whatever she did, so finally she threw the blanket over them both and curled up close to him, facing his chest and curling up her legs to take up a little less room.

            After a moment, Bellamy looped an arm around her waist and tucked his legs so that she was sort of enveloped in his presence, and she felt an immediate wash of comfort go through her. More than that, though, there was familiarity—deeper than she was expecting, like a memory tugging at her.

            Probably from when Lincoln slept by her as a child, she decided, letting the thought dissipate. She allowed herself to tuck her face more closely into Bellamy’s chest and felt him adjust in response, making them comfortable.

            It still took her a little while to fall asleep, but it was more from a hyperawareness of Bellamy’s presence than a fear of danger, and that seemed like a fair trade to her.

 

Clarke woke up with no nightmares or even simple dreams pushing at her mind. It was an overwhelming relief.

            She also woke up with Bellamy Blake wrapped around her, which was something else entirely.

            They had both shifted in the night, so now her legs were tangled in his and her nose was pressed into his neck, his breath stirring on her hair and making their chests brush every few moments. It was a rather intimate position, and Clarke awkwardly realized she didn’t really mind it, save for the fear of him waking up and noticing it.

            It wasn’t just that Bellamy was attractive, either, even though he definitely was—she wasn’t _blind_ , after all; he was blisteringly attractive from top to bottom, even when he acted like an asshole. No, it wasn’t just that—he was safe, and understanding, and more than her head thought she should, she trusted him.

            After a few more moments, Clarke finally forced herself to disengage, crawling away and slipping out from under the blanket. She’d accidentally hogged it in her sleep, so she draped it back over him, though she doubted he’d be asleep for much longer.

            Lincoln and Miller were already up and out of the room, which made Clarke feel both relieved and awkward— she didn’t have to deal with any looks just yet, but they had definitely seen her sleeping with Bellamy.

            Sleeping with Bellamy. She really needed to pick a different phrase for that, or she’d start getting ideas.

            Clarke found Raven just outside of the sleeping areas; she gestured for Clarke to follow her to the deck, where it wasn’t quite light yet but warm enough to be comfortable.

            “I just wanted to talk to you before Luna got a hold of you,” Raven explained, seeing Clarke’s confusion. “Having been through what you’re about to go through...I just want to wish you luck, and maybe give you a little advice.

            “First, you will not succeed if you don’t believe you can. The whole point of the process is to make you unable to be controlled, a useless host basically. If you doubt yourself, you’ll falter, so just go into it headfirst.

            “Also, I don’t want you to think it’s going to be easy; it’s going to suck, and you’re probably going to want to give up a lot. Don’t. But I also don’t want you to think it’s impossible, because clearly it’s not; I’ve done it, and so have a couple others.”

            “But you’re awesome,” Clarke mumbled.

            Raven laughed at that. “I think you’re awesome, too, Clarke Griffin. From the stories I’m hearing already, you’ve got some serious badass skills. Don’t forget that.”

            Clarke nodded slowly. “Thanks, Raven.”

            She nodded curtly, still smiling. “Let’s go eat.”

            Everyone was spread out as they ate, and Clarke still wasn’t feeling particularly social, so she found her group and sat with them again in their Visitor’s Corner. Lincoln had already taken the place by Bellamy, so Clarke sat across them with Miller, who was looking overtly relieved to have slept in somewhere other than a cave.

            She couldn’t help but notice how Bellamy’s eyes flicked to hers and then immediately away, throat tensing just slightly. Was it embarrassment? Annoyance? Distaste? She couldn’t tell, but her stomach turned over all the same.

            Trying to ignore the sensation, Clarke began to eat. The food was good, much saltier than what she usually ate (which was to be expected), but she struggled to get it down. Even with Raven’s pep talk, she was terrified for the day ahead of her, and her stomach had responded by tying itself into knots.

            Miller seemed to notice this, because he patted her shoulder and discreetly took a little of her food so she wouldn’t feel guilty about not eating it all. She gave him a half smile, which he reciprocated, and continued eating.

            Luna found them soon after, Raven close in tow. “If you’re done eating, I can explain the process to you.”

            Clarke swallowed hard and nodded, setting down her mostly emptied plate and shifting to she could see Luna and Raven properly when they sat down.

            “The first thing you need to know about getting rid of the chip,” Luna began, “is that you can’t do it by force. The chip has to not want you, think you’re a useless host, and then it will let go and you can pull it out.”

            Clarke nodded. That lined up with what Jasper Jordan had hold them, back on land.

            “The other thing is this is almost entirely a mental game you’ll have to play. You can’t fight off a neural link, so there is little physical action that will help you. However, you may have some physical effects, because the process will be draining, and the more you fight mentally, the more the chip will fight back mentally _and_ physically.”

            “So the chip will hurt her when she tries to fight it?” Lincoln asked, worry spilling into his voice like an overfilled cup.

            Luna nodded gravely. “There is a reason I wanted you to get lots of rest. You are starting at the disadvantage, and you will continue to have the disadvantage throughout. The chip already has a hold on you, and it doesn’t have to prove anything to keep its hold on you. You, on the other hand, must fully prove yourself to be a useless host to it, unable to share your thoughts or be controlled.”

            Clarke wasn’t looking at Bellamy, but somehow, she felt his eyes on her anyway, foreboding and anxious. She did her best not to look back.

            “What steps do I have to take then?” she asked, not really wanting to hear more about how much of a disadvantage she was at.

            “You will have to face your own mind, and win,” Luna said, as if that helped. “First, you must face your fears, because the chip knows how to prey on them; then your past, your memories, because that is what the chip wants; then the chip itself, its presence in your mind.”

            “How the hell do you do that?” Miller asked, expressing Clarke’s inner thoughts exactly.

            The corner of Luna’s mouth lifted momentarily at the comment, then fell again. “It is different with every person I’ve come across. Some have needed to physically face their fears or a simulation of them and be able to stand their ground. Others have simply needed to find the mental capacity within themselves to accept the fear for what it is and not allow it to control them anymore. Your past is the same way. But facing the chip itself...that one is the hardest by far. The only way to face the controlling link its developed is to allow it to come to you, to try to control you, and completely resist it.”

            “But why wouldn’t I resist it?” Clarke asked, frowning. “Even asleep, I don’t see how I’d want to do whatever it says.”

            “You were led away by a simple dream, were you not? Despite not knowing you were doing what the chip wanted, you did all the same. And Wanheda’s powers of bribery and persuasion are strong; some who have come to me wanting help have been sent away worse than before, actually accepting their own fate.”

            This disturbed Clarke deeply, but she didn’t say anything else. Better not to encourage the universe to make her worries come true.

            “And what do we do, during all this?” That was Bellamy, finally lifting his head to look Luna straight in the eye. His voice and expression exuded confidence and authority, but Clarke saw something else—desperation. Guilt. She couldn’t understand it, but it was there. Somehow, Bellamy felt _guilty_.

            “Not much in the way of beating it,” Raven cut in, “since this is a mental game as Luna said. But I doubt your support would hurt Clarke, and she may need you to get past the first two tasks.”

            “Not the last one?”

            Expression darkening, Raven shook her head. “Clarke has to do that one on her own. When she falls asleep and lets the chip come into her mind, she has to resist its desires and wake up completely on her own, with absolutely no outside help.”

            Clarke’s eyes shot to Bellamy at that, and to her surprise she found him looking back. She knew what he was thinking—that it was him who had woken her up before. Bellamy’s voice and presence had been her only link to reality; she wasn’t sure she would’ve woken up at all had he not been there. And now, she was supposed to do it on her own, and when the chip would be fighting her more aggressively, too.

            Bellamy swallowed visibly and gave her a tiny nod; Clarke tried to take it as comfort, though she wasn’t sure what he was trying to express.

            “Clarke,” Luna said, drawing back her attention. “Before I do anything more, I need to know you are willing to go through with this.”

            Deftly, Clarke nodded.

            “Okay. Are you ready to begin now?”

            Again, Clarke nodded, though it was a lie. She didn’t feel ready, and she doubted there was a time she ever would feel ready, but there was nothing else to do. Every moment she wasted was wasted for her friends, too, and for the people of Floukru. She _had_ to be ready now.

            “Okay then. Follow me.”

            Luna led them to the top deck, where she ushered everyone away into the lower levels so the six of them could be alone. “I find this to be the best place to start confronting fears, rather than a confined space,” Luna mused, looking out over the edge of the deck. “Here, your words are open for the whole ocean and sky above to hear.”

            Personally, Clarke mostly just felt uncomfortable about having five people she’d have to disclose her fears to, with no guises or objects to hide behind.

            Which was probably the point, she realized sullenly.

            By Luna’s orders, Clarke stood across from the others, facing them like she was about to give a battle speech or engage in an unfairly weighted fight. Then, while the rest of them stood, she was told to sit down, closing her eyes.

            “This is sort of uncomfortable,” Clarke mumbled, feeling everyone’s eyes trained on her.

            “That’s the point,” Raven said. “You should feel scrutinized right now; you should feel uncomfortable. It’ll bring out your fears, and make you better at dealing with the worse scrutiny you’re going to face later.”

            Clarke bit her lip, but nodded in assent.

            Luna’s directions were simple: think of what she feared. As many things as she wanted, but slowly combine them, whittle them down into the worst fear she had, the single thing that she rather do anything, _anything_ else rather than experience.

            The directions were simple, but actually doing it was a lot harder—well, sort of. It was easy to come up with things she was afraid of; she was plagued by fear every day, every hour, every _moment_. But forcing herself to address them, to give them names, to combine them and find a single source of all her fears and insecurities, was far more difficult than it seemed.

            She feared dying. She feared the people she cared about dying. She feared killing people. She feared losing people because of her own decisions. She feared not being able to prevent wrongs. She feared not being enough. She feared not having a place where she belonged. She feared she could not become better and repair damages she had previously made. She feared being abandoned.

            She feared losing people. She feared not being enough. She feared not belonging. She feared being abandoned.

            She feared....

            Clarke opened her eyes. “I fear losing everything,” she said, her voice tiny and small.

            Everyone just watched her, carefully, recognizing this was not a time for comments.

            “Explain,” Luna said simply, not pressing further than that.

            “I fear...I fear everyone is going to leave me, and I’ll have no one left and nowhere to go. That because of my stupid decisions, or the things I can’t prevent, they’ll be killed or worse. My fault. That one way or another, I’m going to be abandoned. I’m going to be alone.”

            There was a long, heavy moment of silence where everyone processed Clarke’s words, including Clarke’s. She glanced at Luna, wondering what was to happen next – how would they simulate _that_ fear? Ship her off in a boat alone for a few hours? Yell mean things at her? Accuse her of something awful? – but a movement caught her eye.

            It was Bellamy. He had stepped away from the group and was walking to the edge of the deck, every muscle in his body tensed.

            “Bellamy?” Clarke asked, confused. Then, when he didn’t answer: “Hey, Bellamy wait.” She stood up and scrambled to go to him; the others followed her with their eyes, but nothing more.

            When she reached him, he was turned away from her, though she suspected it was more to hide his face from her than trying to give her the cold shoulder. Or, at least, she hoped.

            “Bellamy,” Clarke repeated, touching him lightly on the arm. “What is it?”

            After a long moment, he turned. “It’s nothing, Clarke,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes, and God, he looked so _sad_ , like he just realized his best friend was going to die and he couldn’t do anything about it.

            “Don’t try to pull that one on me,” she chided. “After everything we’ve been through, I deserve to know when something’s wrong, not pushed aside. I _want_ to know.”

            His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for half a moment Clarke forgot about her worry and confusion and just _looked_ at him. She thought of how recently they had been total strangers, nearly enemies, and it seemed like a completely different world. He seemed completely different, too, though she wasn’t sure how much of that was actual change and how much she had simply not noticed.

            She wondered how much she still had to learn about him, and realized she wanted to know it all.

            “Bellamy,” she whispered, unsure if she was still trying to get him to answer her or just saying his name to say it; because she wanted to.

            He looked at her for a few moments more, and it occurred to Clarke they were closer than they’d been a moment ago; less than a foot apart. Then he averted his gaze, just the tiniest bit, breaking the moment but not moving away. “I’m partially responsible,” he said at last, his voice as small as hers had been when she said her worst fear, “for you fearing losing everything. Fearing abandonment.”

            Clarke blinked; that was not at all what she’d been expecting. “What? How?”

            Bellamy just looked at the ground, silently signaling to figure it out on her own. But how could she do that? From the first time they’d met, he’d been by her side every step of the way, even when he didn’t have to be, or when it was dangerous, or when he’d be better off stepping away. Hell, he was the one who gave her the chance to find her past and her old family in the first place! That was the opposite of making her feel like she was losing everything.

            When the silence had stretched on for far too long, Bellamy finally caved a little. “You told me once, in the forest after the first attack, that your body knew more than your brain did,” he whispered, still not looking up. “I think that still applies.”

            Clarke opened her mouth to protest that didn’t mean anything, but an image popped into her head, of being wrapped in Bellamy’s arms the night before. Of the overwhelming familiarity and safety she felt, not just at being held but the way she was being held, and the person holding her.

            Then she thought of the story of her own childhood—how the boy who’d saved her found a place to keep them safe, calmed her into sleep, but fell asleep himself and didn’t realize she had run off. How Clarke always slept better when Lincoln held onto her, face to face, enveloping her in his arms.

            “Oh my God.”

            Bellamy looked up at last, knowing she had figuring it out. His eyes were weary, body language tense like he was ready to face an attack, and that was the worst part. God, he felt _guilty_.

            “It was you,” she said, quieter now. “All this time, you never told us, but the boy who saved me was you.”

            “I lost you,” Bellamy said, his voice breaking, but he didn’t look away. “And because of it, Abby lost you, too, and now you must’ve been carrying this all your life, the memory of running with no one following, no one searching for you, at only two years old. I _abandoned_ you.”

            Though his reasoning didn’t surprise her, Clarke couldn’t help but be taken aback at how twisted the story had gotten in his head. “You were _seven_ , Bellamy. Seven years old, and in as much danger as I was, with a baby sister to worry about, too. You can’t have expected yourself to defy your own exhaustion to ensure nothing happened. That’s not your fault.”

            “But I still failed you. You got lost, and I was the one who abandoned you.”

            “Who said anything about abandoning me?” Clarke demanded. “You never once left my side when my mother put me in your care. _I_ was the one who ran off when you fell asleep. You were the one who looked for me, all day, and kept up hope for weeks, months, maybe years.” She paused. “And then you _found_ me, Bellamy. You gave me my memories back, my chance at knowing who I am. What I lost as a child, you gave back to me, and so much more.”

            Bellamy didn’t say anything for a long time; just stared at her, lips parted just barely, eyes fluttering half-closed. He looked stunned, in that soft way when someone takes a burden you never knew was weighing you down.

            She looked back, swallowing against a sudden surge of impulses, mostly about moving closer. “And as second rounds go,” she said slowly, “you still haven’t abandoned me yet.”

            Bellamy smiled a little, one so gentle it was like he’d crafted it just for her. “There won’t be a yet,” he promised, soft but powerful in its surety.

            Clarke absorbed that for a moment. She hadn’t known Bellamy long, but she believed him. And if she knew Bellamy wouldn’t abandon her, she knew her brother wouldn’t either, or Miller. If nothing else on this god-forsaken planet, she had three people who had seen the ugly insides of her heart and still stood by her when they could’ve and perhaps should’ve been doing anything else.

            They could still die, she knew, or be torn from her in other ways, but somehow, it didn’t scare her—or, rather, it gave her a reason to be brave; to not let the fear overcome her. They _wanted_ to stay with her, and that was something to fight for.

            “You good?” Bellamy asked. He must’ve been able to read her thoughts, or at least interpret her facial expressions, because the words weren’t worried, only curious.

            She nodded firmly. “You?”

            He nodded as well, and when he said, “Yeah, I’m good,” for once it sounded pretty genuine.

            They walked back to the group together, disconnecting only for Clarke to stand in front of them all. “I think I’m ready for the next trial,” she told Luna curtly, trying not to smile. “I just had to accept my fear and realize I could overcome it, right?”

            Luna glanced between Clarke and Bellamy with a large degree of intrigue, but nodded. “Have you?”

            “As much as I ever will right now,” Clarke affirmed.

            “Then yes, I think we can move on.”

            Clarke looked at Bellamy, who smiled at her and nodded.

            Yes, she decided. She was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun story when i was editing this (i wrote it before watching s5) i realized clarke's worst fear in this fic is realized in 5x01"i've lost everything. my father, my friends, my mother." :))))))))))))) gonna go cry now thank you
> 
> HOW R U LIKING IT? SCALE OF 1 TO 10 HOW FRUSTRATED R U WITH SLOWBURN BLARKE? DID U GET S5 FEELINGS TOO? KEYBOARD SLAM??????? thank u for ur love it fuels me <333
> 
> anyway hmu on tumblr @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx


	12. An Unspoken Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna frowned. "Just to finish the second trial, we may have to find your old family and physically face what happened to you when you were young.”  
> A crease formed between Bellamy’s eyes. “But didn’t you say that once we left Floukru, the chip’s hold on her would be more powerful? Isn’t that a bad idea when it’s also more inclined to fight back?”  
> “Clarke wouldn’t necessarily have to leave Floukru, if we could convince Abigail Griffin to come here instead.”  
> “And if she doesn’t? If we have to go to her?”  
> \--  
> or: in the space between trials, bellamy and clarke find a few moments to themselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UR WELCOME FOR THE CHAPTER TITLE AND FOR THIS CHAPTER YOU'RE FUCKIN WELCOME
> 
> also pls tell me yall have noticed every chapter is a lyric/line from the anastasia movie im trying too hard

After the ease of the first trial, Clarke was hopeful the others would be simple as well, but that feeling quickly dissolved when Luna started to explain. “The more you fight the chip, the more it will fight back, especially as you begin to attack it more directly.” She frowned before adding, “On top of that, with your complicated past, you may not be able to just think yourself out of this one. Just to finish the second trial, we may have to find your old family and physically face what happened to you when you were young.”

            A crease formed between Bellamy’s eyes. “But didn’t you say that once we left Floukru, the chip’s hold on her would be more powerful? Isn’t that a bad idea when it’s also more inclined to fight back?”

            “Clarke wouldn’t necessarily have to leave Floukru, if we could convince Abigail Griffin to come here instead.”

            “And if she doesn’t? If we have to go to her?”

            “I never said this process would be easy,” Luna said patiently. “Many have failed before now, and if Clarke wants to beat it, she has to be willing to take the risk of failing, too.”

            She turned her eyes to Clarke expectantly; she nodded in return, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.

            “Good. Now, we should go in a more private space to talk about details; not everyone here is particularly fond of the Skaikru leader, and they might not enjoy us discussing bringing her here.”

            She started to walk inside, and Clarke made to follow her, but her leg jerked back without her permission. Everyone looked at her oddly, but before she could say anything, a lightning bolt of pain shot down her neck just as her leg jerked back again, so violently she was thrown off her feet. Before she could get her hands out to break her fall, her head smacked against the metal floor and her vision went black for a moment.

            When her eyes focused again, Bellamy’s face filled her view, worry crinkling his forehead and the corner of his eyes. She had a random urge to smooth out the wrinkles, but the pain in her neck relapsed and she squeezed her eyes shut instead, clamping her teeth together in an effort not to scream.

            “Clarke?” Bellamy asked, panic flooding his voice; she felt one hand curl around her head to support it and instinctively leaned into his touch. “Hey, Clarke, look at me.”

            Clarke did, with effort. “The chip,” she whispered lamely.

            He nodded, the panic starting to spill over into his expression, and set his other hand on her arm; she could feel it shaking. “We’ll take a break.”

            “What? No, we need to keep going. I’m fine.” She tried to push herself up, but it took far too much effort to move her arms, like there were metal weights pinning them down.

            “Fine?” Bellamy demanded. “You can’t even get up.”

            “Luna said there wouldn’t be much time—”

            “Fuck what Luna said. No offense,” he added, glancing at Luna briefly. “We can continue as soon as you have some strength, but there’s no way you can do anything intense right now. You need to rest.”

            Clarke knew he was right, but she hated to admit it, so she closed her eyes instead. A moment later, Bellamy’s arms were shifting around her waist and knees, and then he was lifting her. Part of her wanted to protest she could walk on her own, but she couldn’t, and besides, his embrace was so warm and comforting she couldn’t bring herself to resist it. So instead, she strained to loop her arms around his neck, tucked her face discreetly into his collarbone, and let him carry her inside.

            Luna led them into an empty room, likely Floukru’s makeshift med bay, and directed Bellamy to lay Clarke on one of the beds. He obeyed, and then Luna and Raven rolled her on her side to look at the chip. Just their presence made the pain flare up, and when they touched it, it became so intense she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Not wanting to scream, she fisted her hand in the mattress; right as she did, a larger, familiar hand covered hers.

            She didn’t take Bellamy’s hand, worried about hurting him, but she didn’t push him away either, and he seemed to understand, squeezing her hand softly and rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm.

            She did her best to focus on that sensation instead of whatever it was Raven and Luna were doing; thankfully, it wasn’t long before they had finished, giving her orders to stay and rest under some supervision.

            “I’ll stay with her,” Lincoln said, but Luna shook her head.

            “I have some things to discuss with you first.”

            Lincoln frowned, glancing over at Bellamy with a look that said, _Do you have her?_

            Bellamy nodded, his hand imperceptibly tightening over Clarke’s.

            The rest of them shuffled out soon after, and then she and Bellamy were alone.

            “Is it any better?” he whispered, as if trying to hold a private conversation in a crowded room instead of an empty med area.

            Clarke nodded. Whatever Luna and Raven had done, it had eased the pain to an echo; or maybe it had retreated willingly, since they had stopped resisting it for now.

            “That’s good,” he mumbled, retreating into shyness a little bit. Then, after a moment: “Try to sleep.”

            “You’ll stay?” she asked. She tried to pass it off as casual, but it came out breathless and pleading instead, which didn’t suggest she was just asking him if he would stay—it suggested she was asking if he would stay because he _wanted_ to.

            Bellamy looked at her for a long time—too long, for such a simple question, but Clarke didn’t care. “Yeah,” he whispered, so softly she wondered if he was really speaking at all. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

            So Clarke closed her eyes, still aware of the warmth of Bellamy’s hand covering hers, and tried to sleep.

 

She woke to crying.

            It took Clarke a moment to realize it wasn’t her who was crying; it was Bellamy. He was slumped over by her side, head buried in his arms, and shaking almost more than he was actually crying. She felt her heart squeeze painfully.

            “Bellamy,” she whispered, touching his shoulder. “Hey, Bellamy, are you okay?”

            There was no response, but he did shift a little, head falling to the side a little to let her see his eyes were closed. _A nightmare._ She pushed herself up (with a small sigh of relief she could manage it easily now) and shifted her hand to his back, rubbing gently. “Bellamy,” she said a little louder. “Wake up. It’s okay, you’re safe, just wake up.”

            “Don’t,” he mumbled fitfully, still showing no signs of consciousness. His shaking was getting worse. “Don’t touch her—no, please, please just stop. Please, _please_....”

            His voice was so full of raw horror and pain Clarke felt her muscles tense up, like she was living it with him. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” she soothed, not knowing what else to do. “Bellamy, just wake up okay? I’m here, I’m here.”

            He flinched badly, and then again, half seizing in a subconscious attempt to escape whatever horror the nightmare was bringing him. Empathy swelled in Clarke’s heart, not just because she had so recently been caught in a horrible nightmare herself but because this was _Bellamy_ , and she hated seeing him hurt.

            She would blame empathy for what she did next.

            Shifting to throw her legs off the side of the bed, Clarke gently pulled Bellamy halfway into her lap, slipping her fingers into his hair to rub soothingly at his scalp. It was a surprisingly nice sensation, something she realized she’d wanted to do for a long time, but she pushed that thought away and focused on stroking his hair with one hand and his back with the other, all the while leaning over to whisper near his ear, “Shhh, Bellamy, I’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re okay. Just wake up, Bellamy. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

            His shaking didn’t lessen, but the mumbling did fade away, and just as Clarke thought perhaps he was slipping back into a peaceful sleep, she heard a slight intake of breath and knew he had woken up.

            This was her cue to move her hands away, step back, put back the façade they were both so careful to keep, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was intimacy of the moment, how it was just them and he was so close, or that she couldn’t get his crying out of his mind, but she didn’t want the façade up this time. She wanted to help him. God knew he deserved it.

            “Bellamy,” she said again, half to assure him he was okay and half to let him decide how he wanted this moment to play out.

            He lifted his head, forcing Clarke to drop her hands from his hair and back, which she tried hard not to care about. “You’re up,” he said simply, giving the decision back to her. _Of course._

            Clarke swallowed, worried anything she said would be pressing too hard but too curious to stop herself from saying something. “You were crying in your sleep.”

            The muscles in his neck visibly tightened. “Just crying?”

            She shook her head. “You were shaking, too. And, um, mumbling. Something about...not touching someone.”

            His shoulders stiffened, then rolled forward in a sort of defeated hunch. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

            Clarke cocked her head. “Sorry? Why the hell do you need to be sorry? You’re the one who just had a nightmare.”

            “I was supposed to be watching over you.”

            She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little bit. “What is it with you and thinking falling asleep is a lack of duty? Anyway, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry about me right now.”

            He dropped his head a little and snorted, mumbling something she could’ve sworn was _I always worry about you_ , and she felt her traitorous heart swoop upwards in her chest.

            There was a moment of silence, and Clarke made the decision to press a little. “Was it your sister?”

            Bellamy’s head jerked up. “Was what my sister?”

            “The girl you were wanting to protect, in the nightmare. Did something....”

            “It’s nothing. Just a nightmare, like you said.” Bellamy’s voice had gone cold and empty, which meant it was exactly the opposite of nothing and he just didn’t want to talk about it. And she could respect that, if he didn’t want to, but there was something in his eyes, the way he paused after he finished speaking, like his whole body was begging him to speak.

            So she waited, looking at him quietly for a moment and resisting the urge to touch his hair again, and after a moment, he caved. “She—we didn’t have the best childhood, she and I. We were orphaned when the Ark came down, and no one wanted to foster us, either, because of my mom.”

            “Your mom?”

            “She had a bad rap,” Bellamy said, starting to loosen up but still not moving from where he knelt on the side of her bed. “She had both of us outside of marriage, with different men, and we didn’t have money, plus she had to hide O’s entire existence, with the Ark’s one-child rule. So to keep up the secret, and gain some money, she...did things. Let people do things to her. And you know how fast rumors can spread in a place as cramped as the Ark.

            “But anyway, no one wanted Aurora Blake’s kids, so the scouts picked us up instead. They wanted to separate us initially, thought we were too close, but I fought like crazy and eventually they had to cave and keep us together, down to being in the same room to sleep.”

            “That’s good then, right? You kept her around.”

            Bellamy winced and then finally shifted to sit next to her, eyes on his shaking hands. She leaned against him a little, trying to show her support, and he leaned back. “Shumway – that guy we ran into when we were leaving town, the head of the scouts – he hated me for winning that fight, and because I talked back, and because I was Aurora Blake’s son. He was determined to make my life a living hell because of it. I got the worst jobs, the cruelest training, the most punishments. And then it got worse.

            “I was doing too well at all of Shumway’s ‘tests,’ I guess. I hadn’t broken yet. So Shumway started blackmailing me, too. Said he’d make Octavia train with someone who’d beat her to a pulp, or kick her out of the program to die in the streets; shit like that. The things he asked me to do were humiliating, cruel, and nearly impossible, but I did them anyway. I never failed; I couldn’t. Octavia needed me.

            “Then one day he came to me and handed me a pistol.” Here Bellamy paused horribly, and Clarke knew there was a scene replaying in his head. “He said I had to take it and kill the local Skaikru rep, Thelonius Jaha, or he’d get Octavia locked up until she was eighteen and then killed without trial.

            “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let him hurt Octavia, but I didn’t want to kill anyone. And what if I got caught? Would he hurt her anyway?”

            He swallowed hard; Clarke could see tears welling in his eyes. “I couldn’t even warn her, Clarke. She hated me— _hates_ me. She thought I didn’t care, thought I was trying to control her, and she saw every horrible thing I’d done as proof. I couldn’t tell her it was for her; she wouldn’t believe me, even if I didn’t know Shumway would do something terrible if I revealed it. And the worst part? He could’ve done it, easily. She got into trouble, O, trying to prove herself, picking fights and stuff like that. If it wasn’t for Shumway and the scouts, she would’ve already had a one-way ticket to juvy. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to her. Not to my baby sister.”

            Though there had been tears sliding down his face already by this point, they came in full force now, accompanied by choked sobs that wracked his body. Clarke couldn’t bear to just let him cry like that, so she wrapped her arms around his side and tucked her head into his shoulder blade. He gripped her arm with his hand and leaned into her, sobbing, trying to form words.

            “I’d never aimed to kill someone before, Clarke. I didn’t want to kill him. And I didn’t—God, Clarke, I didn’t, you gotta know I didn’t. I was supposed to. But I missed. Just injured him. And I ran. I ran and I hid and I’ve been hiding ever since, not knowing if he survived, if Octavia’s okay, if she’ll ever stop hating me, if they’re going to find me and kill me for what they did, and...and....”

            “I’ll protect you.” Those weren’t the words she thought she was going to say, and they surprised her in their sincerity. She pushed on. “Listen, I swear to God, I won’t even let Shumway _near_ you. I’m basically Skaikru’s princess, right? I can pardon you, keep you safe. I will.”

            “I don’t know if you can save me, Clarke,” Bellamy whispered; he paused heavily before adding, even softer, “I don’t know if you should.”

            “Hey, hey, none of that,” Clarke scolded. “I get to whatever I want, remember? I’m a princess. So if I say you’re worth saving, you are. No takebacks.”

            Bellamy snorted at that, almost a laugh, and shifted in her grip to wrap his arms around her tightly, burying his face into her neck. Before she could think about it, she curled her hand into his hair again, holding him back just as tightly.

            They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, passing comfort back and forth until Bellamy’s crying had subsided and he could hold himself up again. He didn’t go far when he pulled away, though—in fact, he came almost closer, pressing his lips to her forehead and lingering there for a moment, like he didn’t want to ever move away.

            (Clarke just hoped he wasn’t close enough to hear her heartbeat.)

            “Clarke,” he said after a while, lips still brushing her forehead; Clarke didn’t know if it was a question or just him saying her name, but she had to swallow down a surge of affection for him either way.

            “Bellamy,” she responded; she didn’t know if it was a question either.

            “I—” He paused, too long. “I haven’t told anyone that before. Miller knows most of it, because he knew me through it, but...I’ve never said it aloud like that before.”

            “Really?” Clarke asked, though she wasn’t particularly surprised. Bellamy had a nasty habit of letting his feelings rot until they were exposed forcibly.

            “Try to act more surprised, please, it’s supposed to be a big shock,” he said, laughing a little bit as he pulled away to look at her.

            They were very close, and Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about how much she wanted to put her hands in his hair again. “I must really be a princess after all,” she said slowly, “to be special enough for that position.”

            “Nah,” he said, slipping his hand into her hair; she flinched a little, surprised, but thankfully he didn’t take it the wrong way. “You really don’t need the princess title to be so special.”

            It was a much more intimate and sweet thing to say than his tone suggested, and Clarke almost wanted to cry. Or put her hand in his hair. Or pull him in by the front of his shirt and kiss him.

            Oh God, she really wanted to kiss him, didn’t she?

            Bellamy seemed lost in a trance himself, searching over her face like a question, and maybe without meaning to, his hand slipped to curl around her neck. Clarke could feel his breath hit her face, feel her heart beating faster and faster—

            Bellamy’s fingers slipped over the chip and pain shot outwards from there, forcing her backwards with a cry.

            “Clarke? Are you okay?” Bellamy asked, jumping right back to concerned. “Shit, did I do something?”

            “No, no, you’re fine, it’s just—” She willed herself not to blush. “The chip’s testy, I guess. Doesn’t want me to forget about it.”

            He scowled, which was actually kind of cute. (God, this crush was going to kill her.) “Personally, I can’t wait to forget about it.”

            “Yeah, me, too.” She looked down a little awkwardly, then added, “I’m feeling better. Maybe we can find Luna, try to get this chip business figured out. Be done with it.”

            “That’d be good,” he said, looking at her with a little half smile that made her stomach twist pleasantly. “That’d be really good.”

 

Once they gathered the group again to discuss the next test, deciding to bring Chancellor Griffin to Floukru was made almost instantly, but figuring out who would go get her proved to be much more difficult.

            “I don’t understand why I _wouldn’t_ go,” Clarke grumbled. “She’s probably had a bunch of fake Clarke’s paraded past her, how else will you convince her to come unless I’m there to prove it?”

            “Abby knows me, she’ll believe I’m telling the truth,” Bellamy countered. “And besides, you can’t leave Floukru without risking the chip controlling you badly again.”

            “If you can’t convince her, which is likely after all these years and the _criminal charge_ over your head, I’ll have to go there anyway, which will suck precious time we don’t have.”

            “You know what else will suck precious time? You getting controlled and led into a trap.”

            “We have to take risks if we want to get this thing out of me,” Clarke argued, “and I think—”

            “ _No,_ ” Bellamy growled, surprisingly sharp, and Clarke shut her mouth instinctively. “You are not jumping into danger just to have a slightly better chance of convincing Abby. You’re going to stay here, where you’re _safe_ , and I’ll bring Abby to you. I’ll fucking carry her over my shoulder if I have to.”

            Clarke glared at him, and he glared back, but before they could get to arguing again Luna stepped pointedly between them. “You both raise good points. Clarke is not safe going to the very place they are expecting her to go, not to mention a place they likely want access to. But the story is not as airtight now that Bellamy is a fugitive. We need a compromise.”

            “What?” Bellamy snapped.

            Luna gave him a look that said, _Cool off._ “Raven is familiar with Abby and the Skaikru system. She can be an advocate for Floukru and the story which Bellamy will tell.”

            “Bellamy?” Clarke burst, feeling worry and annoyance clash like hot spikes in her chest. “But that’s ridiculous, any of us could tell it, it’s not safe—”

            “You’re correct, anyone could tell it,” Luna said, turning her glare on Clarke, “so we need someone who can tell the story from actual memory and not just hearsay. Someone who truly lived through it, who knew both you and Abby when the incident occurred.”

            “But his charges—”

            “Raven can help arrange that. I’m sure if you have the chancellor’s long-lost daughter ready for her, she’ll be willing to help him with any slights he may have committed.”

            Clarke cut her eyes to Bellamy; his neck was tense, but he looked determined to go through with it, and it made her furious.

            “I still don’t understand why—” she started, but Luna cut her off with a strict glare.

            “This is not an easy decision for any of us, Clarke. I am sending my wife away for the first time in years to bring in an outsider to a place I built to keep other clans out. But far more harm will come to all of us, including Bellamy, if Becca’s forces get full control over you.”

            Clarke shrunk under Luna’s words, and the way she had compared Raven and Bellamy. Meekly, she nodded, and Luna’s face softened again. “If your rover hasn’t been taken, it will only be a few days to reach the capital, and Raven still has her permit to enter the capital; Bellamy will be able to go with her. Probably a week or two at most before they return, that’s all.”

            It felt like a horribly long time to Clarke – she hadn’t been separated from Bellamy at all since their journey began, and she’d be sending him off on a trip where he could easily be hurt or captured or killed – but she didn’t say it, knowing Luna would probably miss Raven desperately, too. If she wanted to be free of the chip, she had to do it the right way, not the way she necessarily wanted.

            “Okay,” she said quietly, eyes flicking on instinct to Bellamy, who was looking down. “Okay.”

            “When will they leave?” Lincoln asked, wringing his hands together. Though he was in full favor of Clarke not going, he still seemed nervous about the trip.

            “Theoretically, we could send them off today,” Luna said, making Clarke’s heart seize up, “but by the time we get all the supplies ready and make an official plan of what they should do and say, it’ll be turning to night, and if they don’t get some sleep before they go, they won’t make it to a safe town before they need to stop.”

            “So, tomorrow?” Miller said, tight voice revealing his own doubts about the situation.

                Luna nodded. “Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe yall thought u were getting a kiss this chapter didn't u don't u blarkes know better by now
> 
> bUT yay for development right? lemme know?


	13. Alone in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Bellamy leaves for Skaikru, something...happens

The next few hours were a blur of packing and planning, during which Clarke hardly got a moment to speak to Bellamy even though she had a million things to tell him. The plan of how they’d get to Abby and convince her to come to Floukru still seemed wobbly at best, but they didn’t have the time or resources to do anything else since Clarke wasn’t allowed to join.

            Through it all, Clarke’s neck burned, but she decided not to mention it.

            When everything was ready and they’d eaten a large dinner, Luna sent them off to bed. Clarke was too jittery to feel tired, but she obeyed, changing into some clothes Raven gave to her and tucking into her temporary bed.

            Bellamy arrived a few minutes later, sliding under his own blanket to face her but not drawing closer. He watched her like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how, or if he should; she knew her face reflected the same thing.

            After a few minutes of just watching each other in the dark, Clarke broke the silence by sliding forward onto Bellamy’s cot and tucking herself under his waiting arm.

            “I guess even Floukru’s not safe from the chip,” she whispered. She meant it as an explanation for cuddling up to him again, but it sounded more like a confession.

            “We’ll get it out. You’ll be safe then.” He didn’t sound confident, exactly, but more determined—like even if it was impossible, he’d still do it. It made Clarke’s heart do strange things.

            Which wasn’t very convenient, considering they were close enough that he could probably feel a change in heartbeat, so she tried to change the subject to something that made her think less about how his hand was splayed perfectly across her shoulder blades, the warmth of it seeping through her shirt. “What are you going to do with the prize money?”

            A beat. “What?”

            “The prize money. I mean, you might be a criminal, but I’m sure if I put in a good word she’ll still make sure you and Miller get whatever amount she offered.” It was a rather optimistic outlook on the time ahead, more optimistic than she truly was, but she wanted to keep it light and not worry him more than she already had.

            “It’s....” He paused for far too long, like he was debating what to say. “I’m not taking the prize.”

            Clarke nearly sat straight up. “What? Why not?”

            “How could I?” He shifted to look at her face, and despite the darkness of the room she could still see the softness and confusion in his eyes. “You can’t really think you’re just a trade for some prize to me at this point, can you?”

            She blinked, taken aback. “Of course not. But it doesn’t mean you can’t get the prize anyway, right?”

            He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

            “Why the hell not? You brought me here – in above and beyond circumstances, I might add – and you’re going to reunite me with my mom. You deserve something good.”

            At that, he lowered his gaze, like he couldn’t bear to look at her, and Clarke’s heart broke a little.

            “Hey, look at me.” She lifted his chin to encourage him, and finally he met her gaze again. “None of that with me. You deserve good things, Bellamy. You do. Fuck what you were like or what your intentions were at the start. You don’t have to suffer for what you used to be. You just have to grow, and you have.”

            Bellamy looked at her for a long time, and she became aware all over again of his hand on her back, the way his thumb brushed just barely back and forth, and how close she had brought their faces. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered, “while we get Abby. I hope you know that.”

            She did, in the back of her mind, but hearing him say it like that, like some sort of declaration, felt entirely different, and she was stunned for a few moments before she managed to reply, “I’ll miss you too.” Then: “So you better hurry.”

            He smiled and tucked himself closer to her, in a better position to fall asleep. “Whatever you say, princess.”

 

Clarke opened her eyes to find the room still bathed in darkness, so she guessed she hadn’t been able to sleep long. Bellamy was still asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him, but she also was feeling weirdly antsy, so she gently slipped out of his embrace and re-tucked the blanket around his shoulders before slipping out to sit on the deck.

            For a while she just paced, torn between thinking about Bellamy leaving and what she was going to say to her mom when they came back. Would she really believe Clarke was her daughter? Would she expect some sort of proof, something tangible, something Clarke couldn’t provide? And even if she did accept her, what next? Would she still stay with Lincoln back home, or move in with her mother? Would she be expected to have some sort of duty as the chancellor’s daughter? And how could she guarantee Bellamy and Miller’s safety? Would being Clarke Griffin be enough to undo charges of thievery and attempted murder?

            She was so busy thinking, she didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right on top of her, and when she turned to see who it was, she nearly stumbled over the edge of the deck.

            Death-bringers. Ten of them, heavily armed, and _here_. In the one place they weren’t supposed to be able to find her.

            Her first instinct was to find something to defend herself with, though she knew it was useless—there were ten of them, and she had no time; if they wanted to take her or kill her, they could do it easily. Still, she planted herself, ready to duck out of fire and try to grab for one of the guns before they could expect it.

            Except they didn’t shoot; they didn’t even go towards her. They just...looked at her, with their half-dead eyes glinting in the darkness, and smiled. It was that sort of smile that promised a lifetime of suffering, and a shiver ran down Clarke’s spine. Something was wrong. Why weren’t they trying to take her?

            Before she could think of how to react, the group split. Two of them stepped forwards, guns up but not trying to take her yet, and the other eight—

            Oh, God. They were going inside.

            Clarke lunged forwards instinctively, but she was met with the pounding crack of metal against her skull. She dropped like a stone, vision swimming and head screaming in pain. Fighting the urge to pass out, she started to push herself up, but her body resisted, muscles locking in place like a rusted machine.

            “No,” she whispered in horror, straining with all her might. She couldn’t be controlled right now, she had to get to Bellamy, to her friends, she had to save them, she—

            Screams pierced the air like knives, and an instant later the hold on Clarke’s limbs released. She scrambled to her feet and ran, not caring if they tried to stop her again, not caring that she had no weapons and they could control her at the drop of a hat. She just had to get to her friends.

            Bursting into the sleeping quarters with heavy breathing and aching muscles, Clarke saw not the blood and chaos she’d been expecting but a room exactly as she’d left it—rows of sleeping people crammed side by side like sardines, with no sign of any death-bringers. A prick of uneasiness stirred in her chest.

            She knelt beside the nearest person, pressing her fingers against their neck to check for a pulse and sighing in relief when she felt a steady one. “Are you awake?” she whispered, touching their shoulder lightly. Perhaps they knew where the death-bringers had gone, or she could at least warn them they were coming if they had yet to make a move.

            The person didn’t stir, and Clarke gently shook their shoulder, but there was still no response. Feeling that prick of worry from before spread across her chest, she tried harder, going so far as to yelling and slapping their face, but they were motionless and unresponsive; a breathing corpse.

            “What did they do to you?” Clarke whispered, horrified. Had the death-bringers found a fate worse for these people than death? She felt the back of the victim’s neck, but there was no sign of a chip, so what else could they have done?

            “We haven’t done anything to them,” a voice said from Clarke’s left, and she whirled around to see the death-bringers had materialized out of the shadows, including the two who had controlled her. The only difference now was a woman led them now, one who wore not the clunky, thick clothing of the death-bringers but a form-fitting red dress and high heels. She even had makeup on.

            There was something about her, some lack of expression in her eyes, that made Clarke shiver.

            She opened her mouth to ask who the hell this woman was, and what they planned to do with all these innocent people, but something caught her eye. One of the death-bringers had draped their weapon around their shoulder in favor of dragging something.

            No, Clarke realized. Some _one_ , with familiar calloused hands and dark curls, both painted red with blood.

            “Bellamy!” She lunged forward, ready to kill them all with her bare fucking hands, but the death-bringers held up their palms and her body froze mid-motion, every muscle tightening in pain.

            “You are quick, Clarke Griffin,” the woman in red said coldly, “but not quick enough.”

            She nodded to the death-bringer holding Bellamy, who immediately dropped him like a sack of rice. He didn’t try to attack or flee, instead curling into a fetal position to protect his head; meanwhile, the death-bringer slowly reached into their pocket and withdrew a long, thin knife, smiling like they’d won a great honor.

            Clarke tried to scream, but her mouth was frozen—she couldn’t move, couldn’t cry, couldn’t even close her eyes. And they were going to kill him.

            _No,_ she whispered in her mind, desperation filling her until there was nothing else. _Please, no. Don’t hurt him, please, I’ll do anything—_

            “Anything?”

            It was the woman in red again, staring at Clarke with a gleam in her eye. Clarke didn’t know how she could tell what she was thinking, but she didn’t care, because the knife was lowered and Bellamy was still breathing and she could still find a way to get him out of this.

            _Yes,_ she thought, desperately, nodding to emphasize the point. _Anything, just get away from him. Just let me go to him._

            Smiling sweetly, Red snapped her fingers and the tension flooded out of her body. She stumbled to Bellamy and pulled him into her lap, not caring one bit about the blood or the weapons inches from her back. “Bellamy,” she murmured, pushing matted hair away from his face. “Hey, look at me. I’m here now. I’m here.”

            Slowly, his eyes opened, and when he saw her his expression softened in a way that made her heart break. “Clarke,” he whispered, the word almost gargled. “Clarke.”

            “Yeah, it’s me, it’s me,” she choked out; she realized she was crying.

            He opened his mouth a little as if to say something else, but his body stilled, eyes drifting upward and staying there, muscles going limp in her arms.

            For a moment she simply stared, unable to process it; not wanting to. “Bellamy?” she murmured, pushing his hair out of his eyes again as if it mattered. “Bellamy, look at me. Hey, Bellamy, say something.” She choked on the words a little. “ _Say something._ ”

            But of course he didn’t say something, he would never say anything ever again, and it was then that she couldn’t bear it anymore. Sobs broke out of her like a tidal wave, nearly knocking her over, and she buried her face into Bellamy’s chest, the pain billowing even higher when she felt the lack of a heartbeat.

            “No,” she whispered. “No, please, no.”

            Within the haze of grief, she could make out Red speaking behind her. “Why do you grieve? You know what this is.”

            Clarke forced herself to pull away from Bellamy, stroking her hand over the cold, almost paper-like skin of his cheek. She thought of how easily they were able to control her, how that person had gone completely unresponsive, how this woman had stepped out of thin air and heard her thoughts. But mostly, she thought of Bellamy. How his face seemed to almost shift, like her eyes wouldn’t focus properly on him; how there was no way he could really be dead.

            “A nightmare,” she whispered. “This is a nightmare.”

            “For now.”

            She whipped her head up at that. “What?”

            “This isn’t real yet, but it will be soon.”

            She nearly growled. “No. You can’t get here, we’re safe. All you can do is send dreams to try to scare me.”

            “Is that what you believe? You must remember, Clarke Griffin, you are not the only outsider who’s entered these walls, and you won’t be the only one who leaves it. We know the way to Floukru.”

            “You’re just trying to scare me into doing something stupid.”

            “No. I’m trying to scare you into doing what you _have_ to do, to save the people you care about.”

            Involuntarily, Clarke glanced at Bellamy again, and her heart seized up. They had scared her, that was for sure.

            “You have no proof,” Clarke said slowly, “so why should I believe you?”

            Red tilted her head, looking at Clarke thoughtfully, and the scene changed.

            Bellamy was gone, and she was back at the beach, or near it anyway. The scene was completely different than when she’d been there before—the once empty clearing was crawling with death-bringers, all dressed darkly and with chips shining in the back of their necks. Some were organizing weapons, others looting in the rover Clarke and the others had left behind, but most were distributing what looked like scuba gear.

            “This is not a dream,” Red said from beside her. “Can you feel that?”

            There was a distance between her and her surroundings, and her feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. She wasn’t actually in this moment, she realized; just watching it. “A vision. I didn’t know the chip could do that.”

            “The chip can do a great many things you’ve never dreamed of, if you’d only let us in.”

            Clarke snorted. “I’ll never join your creepy little gang willingly.”

            Red shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll have to join unwillingly, after we’ve found you and your friends.” Clarke whipped her gaze to the woman murderously, but Red didn’t even look at her. “One way or another, we will find you, Clarke. But if you come to us, the others don’t need to be hurt.”

            “As if I could believe that. You’ve been trying to kill them even before you wanted to take me.”

            “Yes, but I see a trade must be made to get you to our side, and there’s nothing you’d rather trade for than your loved ones’ safety.” Clarke stayed quiet at that. “You could take a risk and hope I’m bluffing, but it won’t be your life you’ll be putting on the line.”

            Then they were back in the dream, with Clarke on her knees in front of Bellamy’s dead body. Clarke didn’t want to look at him like that anymore, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

            “You have twenty-four hours, Clarke,” Red said. “Think carefully.”

            She touched Clarke’s shoulder and a lightning bolt of pain emanated from the spot; a moment later, she woke up.

\--

She wasn’t in Bellamy’s arms anymore, or even in the sleeping quarters—she’d walked out to the deck in her sleep, the cold night air raising goosebumps on her bare arms. This was convenient, because before she could even get a proper bearing of her surroundings she was heaving into the ocean.

            When her stomach was empty and her shaking had lessened a little, she ran into the sleeping quarters, just to reassure herself that none of it had really happened, and sure enough, everyone was asleep, some twitching or rolling over at the sound of her footsteps.

            And Bellamy. There he was, sleeping just as before, the blanket tucked up to his neck and hand reaching out as if Clarke were still there. Breathing, and unharmed, and safe. She nearly let out a sob of relief.

            Her instinct was to run to him, wake him up, make sure he was really okay, wrap her arms around him and hear his heart beating again and never let go. But she couldn’t. If he woke up, there’d be no safe way to slip away again, and he’d never let her leave willingly.

            It was stupid to believe Red had been telling the truth, she knew—it was a nightmare, after all; designed to frighten her, make her lose her sense. But she couldn’t stop remembering what Red had said: _It won’t be your life you’ll be putting on the line._ If she didn’t do something and they did come, if they heard Bellamy or Lincoln or Miller or any of the others, she’d never forgive herself. She _had_ to this. For them.

            So instead of going to Bellamy like she wanted, she crept over the sleeping bodies until she came to one she recognized—one of the warriors from the beach, the one who’d offered them the vials.

            She knelt beside him and carefully prodded his shoulder until he stirred. When he saw it was her who had woken him, the sleepiness gave way to an equal mixture of annoyance and confusion. “What is it?”

            “Can’t talk here. Follow me to the deck.”

            She turned and walked out without waiting for a reply, and he caught up a few seconds later. When they had gotten outside, he turned to her and folded his arms, waiting impatiently for an explanation.

            “I need you to take me back to shore.”

            This was clearly not what he had expected. “What? Luna told me we were just taking Raven and your boyfriend.”

            Clarke tried not to have a reaction to the word _boyfriend_. “Change of plans. It’s just me.”

            He frowned. “I don’t just ignore orders from Luna, and she clearly didn’t condone this ‘change of plans.’ So why should I help you?”

            Clarke swallowed. They hadn’t told anyone about the chip besides Luna and Raven; the rest of the crew had been given a story about Clarke being sick and them bringing Abby for medical reasons. Luna said it was dangerous to spread the information, as the chip was such a testy subject and could spur up trouble, but she didn’t know what else to do to convince him. “There are people coming for Floukru, for me. If I don’t leave, they’ll kill anyone they have to if it means getting to me, and I can’t let that happen.”

            “Why would someone want a sick girl so badly?”

            In response, Clarke turned and lifted her hair to show him the chip.

            He took in a sharp breath when she did, and she turned again to see his face gone wide with surprise and fear. “When did that happen?”

            “Several days ago. It’s the real reason why I’m here.”

            “And people are coming for you now? How would they even get here? The way is secret.”

            “I had a...dream, sort of. They’re gathering up their forces, readying themselves to attack. I think they found someone who knew the way in but had left, killed them for the information.” He still seemed unsure, so Clarke pressed on. “Look, if we don’t do anything and they do come, they’ll kill everyone here. You must have people you care about in this place.”

            “Of course I do.”

            “Then let me keep them safe. Help me get out of here. It’s the only way.”

            He thought for a long, long moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay. But we have to go now, if you’re going to be gone before people start to wake up.”

            Clarke nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

            He shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t let those monsters find their way here.”

            “I won’t.”

            “Good. Now grab whatever supplies it is you’ll need and meet me back here as soon as you can.”

            Thankfully, that didn’t take long, since all she really had to do was grab from the supplies Bellamy and Raven were going to take. She changed back into her clothes from before, tucked her gun and knife into her holster, and took one of the packs they’d made the day before.

            As she did, she noticed Bellamy’s old scouting jacket laying with the other supplies. She stopped short, brushing her hand over the rip in the fabric where the bullet had entered, the insignias on the arms. Bellamy always wore it like a protection blanket, shoving his fists into his pockets when he was uncomfortable or pulling it more tightly around him when he got nervous. It was almost a piece of him.

            Making a split-second decision, Clarke grabbed the jacket and put it on, uncaring as to how big it was on her, and rushed out before she could do anything else stupid like cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ringsabellamy on tumblr
> 
> sorry hoes u gotta wait a little longer for that good blarke shit

**Author's Note:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr
> 
> TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS <3


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